Narcissistic Cannibal
by FairyTale87
Summary: Nathan and Peyton are together. Lucas likes Peyton… and Brooke… and possibly Haley. Haley likes Nathan, but is best friends with Lucas. Throw brother basketball rivalry into the mix, and it's bound to spiral into chaos… AU; NP, LP, LB, NH, LH.
1. On the Outside Looking In

_Narcissistic Cannibal_

_One_

"_From the Outside Looking In" _

Lucas Scott tugged on his fraying sweatshirt, the collar annoyingly tightening around his neck; the feeling took away from his shot. Sighing, he finally decided to remove the material from his body, and watched as the large "Scott" printed on the back of it crumpled onto the concrete. Lucas moved the sweatshirt farther away from the three-point-line. He'd get ten threes in a row. Lucas had done nine before, but now it was time to finally get ten—he knew Nathan had.

Lucas quickly shook his head. His younger half brother didn't care that Luke existed or that Lucas knew his scoring record from his freshman and sophomore years by heart. Luke was counting now for Nathan's junior—the younger Scott was up to eighty now, and the season was just beginning. Pretty soon, Nathan would beat the school high for points—taking the title from his (their) father Dan. Lucas didn't actually know the record setting number of shots that Dan held; Lucas had known at one point, but it seemed to be a moot tidbit of knowledge to know.

Lucas twirled the basketball in his hands, feeling the bumpy material rub against his already calloused palms. One day, he'd spin the ball in his hands, then pass it off to Nathan who'd smile at him in silent 'thank you' before going up for a perfectly formed layup. Even if Nathan didn't know it, and even if Lucas didn't truly know the kid, Luke was proud of his younger brother. He was a success at the ripe age of sixteen and had nowhere to go but up. The thought made Lucas sigh. It seemed like it should be easier to get to know Nathan—Lucas had a valid excuse and reason to. Nathan was untouchable, though; even to a substantial percentage of his teammates. Nathan Scott was god of Tree Hill—it was an honor for him just to glance at you in the hallway. Lucas had always told himself that that was crazy. No teenager should have that much power—especially one who had an ego as large as Nathan's. Lucas realized though that as much as he despised his brother's cold and cocky ways, Nathan had a way of making up for all of it on the court.

Now, Lucas would never flat out admit that he was infatuated by his brother, because in all honesty, that would be a lie. Infatuation wasn't what Lucas felt for Nathan. The younger Scott seemed to be a part of Lucas—a part that was suffocated and dormant all his life. Luke knew that he'd never allow it to wake up. If he did, Lucas could bet that only misery would come. Shaking his head, Luke spun the ball in his hands one more time before lifting his arms, bending his knees, and focusing his eyes on the basket.

_Swish. _

That was one. Nine more to go.

"Nice shot. Plan on doing this all night?" Lucas turned around to find Haley James standing behind him, smiling. Crossing her arms, she walked closer to Lucas. Her auburn hair was swirling in the wind that hit her face with its full impact. She was so cute in situations like this. Luke smiled.

"Depends on how good your alternative plan is," Lucas said, walking backwards to get his basketball, still keeping eye contact with Haley. Lucas smiled brighter, earning him only a sarcastic eye roll from Haley.

"It's amazing how that basketball means more to you than me. I mean can that piece of rubber make you a nice hot sandwich and take you up to the rooftop where she put up the lights again?" Haley smiled, a devious look flashing in her eyes. Scurrying over to Lucas who had just retrieved his ball, she stole it from his loose grasp and began to jokingly run away. Lucas quickly caught up to her, wrapping his arms around her from behind and slipping the ball from her hands.

"You put the lights up? Hales, you haven't done that in like a year. What's the big occasion?" Lucas raised an eyebrow, beginning to dribble the basketball absent-mindedly.

"Oh, so now there has to be an incentive to do something nice and fun?"

"Well is there?" Lucas watched the sarcastic tint in Haley's features fade away to pure and utter delight.

"Okay, yeah, there is. So, you know how I tutor Jake?" Haley again folded her arms.

"Jake Jagielski?" Lucas cocked his head slightly. Jake was a Raven—what could Haley possibly want from him?

"Yeah, that Jake. So anyways, I talked to him, and he's going to talk to Whitey about giving you a shot at joining the team." Haley smiled brightly.

"Th—the basketball team? Hales, I… why?" Lucas' heart was racing. Being on the team meant facing rivalry, Dan, and Nathan… he wasn't sure he could handle it.

"Why what? Why would I do that? Luke, come on; you've wanted to play for the Ravens since freshman year. I finally have the chance to help you… why wouldn't I have done it?" Haley cocked her head. Why was Lucas acting so negatively towards the idea?

"I just don't know if I can face it. If I do join the team, that'll mean my life will be closer to Dan and Nathan's, and I don't know how my mom will take it," Lucas replied, rolling the basketball between his hands. It was true that it would be hard on Karen; but that wasn't what weighed heavily on Lucas' shoulders. The second that word got around school that he'd be considering joining the team, Nathan would suddenly notice him… talk to him; Lucas didn't know if he could take that.

"Haley, how is there even a chance for me to get on varsity? Tryouts were three weeks ago." Lucas dropped the basketball to the ground, stopping it from rolling with his foot. He looked at Haley expectantly.

"Well, Jake was telling me about this little mishap some of the players had a couple of days ago."

"Mishap?" Lucas ran a hand through his dirty blond hair. His mind was on fire.

"Yeah. Some of the team stole a bus after the game on Thursday, and were caught. They'd also been drinking. I think it was like four or five guys who got cited and banished from the team. I don't remember what Jake said. Anyway, so there are openings on the team now—Whitey's looking for people. Who else would be more perfect than you?" Haley smiled.

"Ha," Lucas replied uneasily, "well, um, thanks, Hales. That means a lot to me." Luke supplied his friend with a timid smile, his thoughts still trying to process what was happening.

"What's wrong, Luke? You don't seem that happy." Haley took a seat on the concrete, and Lucas walked over to her, slowly sinking down next to her.

"I don't know, Haley, it's just been my dream for so long." Haley smiled in giddy response. "No, Hales, it's always been a _dream_; nothing more. I've imagined being on the team and getting to know Nathan for so long, I don't think I can face what it will actually be like." Lucas shrugged his shoulders.

"I get why you're nervous about the team. But why Nathan? He's just a jock who's a jerk; I'm sure you're not missing much." Haley formed a disgusted look on her face, and straightened her slouching back.

"Because he's my brother," Lucas mumbled.

"Since when?" Haley spat back in return. "Luke, you may be related by blood, but even that's clouded. You're nothing like him, and you shouldn't want to know him. He's just a jackass who gets whatever he wants. I don't understand how that makes him worthy of being called your brother." Haley brought her legs up to her chest.

"Someone seems to have strong emotions. Did something happen between you two?" Lucas raised an eyebrow, staring intently at his best friend.

"We're not talking about me right now, Luke."

"We could," Lucas replied. He'd do anything to get out of this conversation of basketball and Nathan.

"No, Luke, _you_. Do you want me to tell Jake not to tell Whitey that you're interested? He was planning on telling Whitey tomorrow… want me to call off the dogs?" Haley leaned in closer to her best friend, smelling the peppermint hint in his breath. She knew it was cliché to find that scent so attractive, but call her predictable…

"I don't want you to tell Jake anything. I'm sure it's just nerves, right? I'll be fine. And you're right—I don't even know Nathan. I've lived this long without him as my brother, why start now, right?" Lucas gave a convincing smile. Truth was, a part of him wanted to know Nathan because he felt that if he did, he'd know Dan. And knowing Dan would help Luke come to terms with what happened between his parents all those years ago.

"Yay!" Haley squealed, hugging Lucas around his torso. "So still up for that sandwich and the rooftop?" Haley took her arms from Luke, looking up at him expectantly.

"All the way," Lucas returned with a genuine grin.

* * *

><p><em>Ravens Practice—Next Day. <em>

"All right Ravens, gather up," Whitey beckoned, saving his varsity team from their last suicide. Nathan slapped the last line he needed to, before jogging over to Whitey. It was customary for Nathan to finish first—the amount of endurance his father made him do should surely allow him to finish a hell of a lot quicker than the others. The rest of the team straggled into the circle Whitey and Nathan were beginning to make, heaving and praying for air. With all of the boys clutching their thighs and bending forward, it made Nathan feel even more powerful as he loomed over them, completely unfazed by the conditioning.

"You all know why you're running. I'm not going to spend time going over rules and morals you boys should have learned years ago. We have a game this Thursday. That's three days from now, gentlemen. I expect nothing other than your best; no matter how much empty space is on the bench. Now hit the showers, and be ready to work again tomorrow." The team knew that was their exit, and they began limping their way off of the court. Staring at the lines painted on so innocently, they seemed like torture devices as the boys' lungs still screamed at them, longing for a normal breath.

Nathan didn't follow his teammates though, rather standing in the shadows by the bleachers. He needed to talk with Coach about how the loss of players would affect the starting lineup and his own personal game; the latter clutching the priority spot. Just as Whitey began approach him, Jake Jagielski ran up to Whitey, snatching his attention.

"Say, Coach, can I talk to you for a second?" Jake looked at Whitey patiently.

"I'll give you a minute, Jagielski. I need to be getting home." Whitey crossed his arms, waiting for his player to speak.

"Well seeing as how we're four players down, that leaves some vacant spots that need to be filled," Jake began mildly. He wasn't quite sure how to address Whitey.

"Thank you for reminding me of the obvious, son. What's the point you're trying to get at?" Coach Durham lowered his head, giving Jake a more stern and intent stare.

"Well, I have someone you might be interested in," Jake replied. Nathan's ears perked at those words. Slowly creeping closer, he wasn't about to miss this information. What could Jagielski possibly suggest to Coach that would be worthwhile?

"Is that so?" Whitey seemed to be warming up to the conversation.

"Yes sir. Lucas Scott, sir. He plays at the River Court. I've driven by a few times, and he seems really promising. He has just as good of a three shot as Nathan." Jake gave a nod to finish off his sentence.

"Lucas Scott," Whitey echoed. He knew very well the hotheaded Nathan would be in a fiery fit if Lucas was to make the team, but every boy deserved to play ball. Having his half brother on the team might even help Nathan come to terms with basketball being a team sport; not simply figures passing him the ball so he could take all of the glory. Whitey gave a wise smirk. "Alright, Jagielski, I'll give the kid a shot."

"Thank you Coach, you won't be disappointed."

"Alright, Jake, you're done role-playing as a sports agent. Now hit the showers so I can get home, son." Jake nodded eagerly in return, jogging off towards the locker room. Nathan slid deeper underneath the bleachers, going unnoticed by the pleased Jake. Nathan scowled at the goody-two-shoes, wishing he could just pit over all of Jake's purity. It was people like Jagielski and Lucas that really pissed Nathan off—they were too genuine to go unnoticed, as Nathan would like them to. Raising his eyes to the retreating form of his coach, Nathan Scott glared at him, hoping his dark stare would serves as daggers, slipping deeply between the disks in Whitey's back. With one last clench of the jaw, Nathan stormed his way towards the showers. Tonight, Lucas Scott would regret ever attempting to enter into Nathan's world.

* * *

><p><em>The River Court <em>

Nathan slammed the door of his jet black Mustang. Basketball firmly tucked under his arm, Nathan was all too slickly pleased to find Lucas bouncing around the ball alone.

"A little juvenile, don't you think?" Nathan spat at his brother oily. The rival his half brother's dribbling, Nathan began to spin his basketball quickly on his pointer finger. Watching Lucas acknowledge his presence with such a respected horror brought a smirk to Nathan's lips.

"It's never childish to practice the basics," Luke replied quietly, continuing to bounce. There Nathan was—talking to him… noticing him. That fact blinded Lucas from the fact that Nathan was personality wise an utter douche bag. Lucas licked his dry lips.

"I heard you're going to try out for the team," Nathan returned, allowing some sarcastic enthusiasm to enter his voice. "Don't. No one wants you. Whitey is only considering you because he's desperate. I know I certainly don't want you, so neither does the rest of the team. Why are you even bothering?" Nathan began to slowly circle his brother, dribbling his basketball at a rhythmic pace.

"Because I want to," Lucas bit out in return. Lucas began to bounce his ball at the same tempo as Nathan. He watched as his younger brother got subtly irked at the movements.

"Then you're more of an idiot than I thought you were. It's only going to be hell for you. Don't try and take my life, Roe," Nathan sneered. He had called Lucas by his mother's maiden name. "You don't deserve to use the last name of Scott. You're only an embarrassment to its legacy." With that, Nathan began to change the tempo of the dribbling, adding and subtracting a bounce here and there. Lucas caught on quickly, beginning to slightly circle Nathan in response.

"I don't want it anyway. That name is the legacy of jackasses."

"Oh, that's cute. Look, just stay away from my game, my girl, and my team. Stay in your life, I'll stay in mine."

"It's a free country, Nathan. The team isn't off limits."

"Like hell it isn't," Nathan shot back. "I _own _that team. Join it, you become my property. You might as well just stay away." Nathan stopped his dribbling all together, turning his back to his brother and beginning to walk back to his car. Lucas watched the strong form draped in red walk away, and that only irritated Lucas further.

"Only the weak walk away," Luke called to his brother.

"There's nothing to walk away from. You don't exist to me," Nathan said, turning around and vacantly looking at Lucas.

"When I join the team I'll exist. And you'd better be ready; that scoring title is mine." Lucas sneered at his brother. It broke his heart to do this—Lucas only wanted to be friends. But it seemed, Nathan wanted anything but that. Two could play his juvenile game.

"Good luck with that one, Roe. I'll be interested to see if you even step onto the court outside of practice." Nathan glared deeper at Lucas.

"It's you who'll warm the bench. Your spot? Mine." Lucas jabbed his thumb into his chest, elongating his last word.

"I swear to god, I'll make it so you can never walk again," Nathan threatened darkly.

"Is violence the only comeback you have? That's sad."

"Go to hell, Roe," Nathan muttered in irritation, turning from his brother the second time that night.

"I would, but there are two Scotts already destined for hell. I don't think they'll have room for a third." Lucas supplied Nathan with an innocent little grin.

"You act like you're so different from my father and me, but you're lower."

"Would you look at that, the caveman actually knows proper grammar; I'm impressed."

"Want to know one good think about using violence as a comeback? I get to do things like this:" Nathan raised his powerful right arm, and swung hard enough at Lucas' face for him to feel the shattering pain, but not strong enough to actually break the bone. He watched as Lucas fell to the ground, clutching his left cheekbone.

"Welcome to hell, Lucas," Nathan sneered coldly into Lucas' ear, and Nathan cracked his knuckles on the hand that had just smashed Lucas' face. Rising easily from his kneeling position, Nathan went back to his car, driving off in a roar.

Lucas propped himself up on his elbow and forearm, massaging his throbbing cheekbone. When Nathan's flesh had met with Lucas', it bound together two brothers linked by Dan. Lucas knew this season wasn't going to be easy, but it was worth the fight to bring Nathan into his life as his brother. It would just take time…

* * *

><p>Okay, so I've just started One Tree Hill, and absolutely love it. As you can tell, this story will be slightly AU, and so will some couples. Please let me know if some characters (out of the few that you've seen) are really OOC. I know Lucas is to some degree—it he's supposed to be. Please leave me a review with some suggestions for plot if you wish. It took me a good while to write this first chapter, and would really appreciate and enjoy some feedback; it'll only take you a second.<p>

_Be good and review! _


	2. Welcome to the Big Leagues, Son

_Narcissistic Cannibal _

_Two. _

"_Welcome to the Big Leagues, Son" _

Nathan Scott stormed through his front door pushing it shut behind him, the lavish wood cringing at his rough slamming. Who the hell did Lucas Scott think he was? He certainly wasn't Nathan—that was for sure. Nate sighed bitterly, feeling the fire brew in his chest. He didn't know quite why he hated his half brother; in all fairness, he'd never really known Lucas. But that didn't take away from the fact that he was trying to take Nathan's life from him. All the sixteen year old had was basketball, popularity, and illusions. That's what Nathan thrived on; bringing Lucas into his safe dream could destroy everything. Nathan's body tingled with a passionate rage as he found his way to the living room, hoping, praying, that his father would be asleep and not hear him. Nathan was in no mood to talk to Dan Scott. The living room was dark—maybe that was a good sign.

"You're late," Nathan heard a dry and disappointed voice deadpan. Nathan's heart fell to his stomach: of course his father would wait up for him.

"Dad, it's only ten-thirty." Nathan switched on the light, finding a glass of Scotch sitting friendlily in his father's hand. Alcohol and fury were not two things that comforted Nathan when it came to matters of his father—especially not when they were combined.

"During basketball season, ten-thirty might as well be one in the morning. How do you expect to perform when you can't even drag your ass out of bed? The college scouts will not find your laziness and lack of responsibility cute." Dan leaned back in his leather recliner, staring down his son with a dark and amused look. It sickened Nathan that his father found entertainment in the scrutiny of others. What shredded his fragile disposition completely was the fact that Nathan did the same thing. Nathan shrugged the feeling of utter horror away—Nathan Scott wasn't his father… yet.

"Look, I'm home, okay? I'll go to bed, and that'll be the end of story." Nathan shrugged his shoulders, and began to walk past his father. Dan caught him by the wrist with his free hand.

"If you even think about staying out past eight again, you will be sorely disappointed with the consequences." Dan gave a sideways glare to his son, watching Nathan's sapphire eyes glisten with quiet fear. Removing his hand from Nathan's wrist with a slight and quick twist, Dan smirked slightly at the way his son cringed.

Nathan didn't even bother replying to his father, and continued to walk towards the stair case, rubbing at his wrist. Putting his foot on the first step, it would seem obvious that going up would lead Nathan closer to heaven; but the deeper into this house he went, the farther he plummeted into hell. Shaking his head slightly, Nathan conquered the final steps and went to his room—making sure to give the door a good slam. He knew his father would hate it. Falling back onto his bed, Nathan retrieved his phone from his deep sweatpants pocket. Pressing speed dial number two, he smirked as Peyton's name appeared on the screen.

"_Hey, Nate," _Peyton greeted her boyfriend. Nathan could tell her attention was not fully on him and this conversation.

"You're drawing, aren't you?" Nathan guessed with a smirk—of course she was.

"_Is it that obvious?"_ She laughed momentarily. _"So um, what's up?" _

Nathan sighed. He desperately wanted to talk to Peyton about his troubles, namely his father, but he didn't quite know how to open up to Peyton. Sure they had been dating since halfway through freshmen year, but that didn't make Nathan's ability to speak of personal matters any easier. "Can I talk to you about something?"

"_You're not coming over for sex," _Peyton mildly joked. On the inside though, it was an honest statement. As of late, Nathan's love for her on an emotional level had been deteriorating. Ever since summer, Nathan had seemed far away… out of reach, no matter how close she held him.

"No, it's not that, Peyton." Nathan sighed. "It's about my dad." Nate pinched his nose—he was really going to open up to her. His heart beat faster as his mind swirled. Peyton had a hold on him. Nathan didn't even want to try and escape it.

"_Oh, Nate, what's wrong?"_ Peyton began to shift her position on her bed. Moving her sketchbook off of her lap, she leaned forward anticipating Nathan's next words. Knowing Dan, he could have done anything. Peyton just prayed to god that Nathan was alright. She couldn't take anything happening to him.

"Well, he's been drinking more lately," Nathan returned. That's the first time he had truly admitted that—and to someone other than himself for that matter. "I just don't know where he's at right now, you know?"

"_Yeah,"_ Peyton replied shallowly. She sucked in air. _"Is he—dangerous?"_ Peyton ran a hand through her thick blonde curls, silently cursing as her fingers got stuck briefly in it. Her muscles tightened as she realized what she had asked. Nathan and Dan Scott were nearly inseparable. Maybe her comment wouldn't anger Nate too strongly…

"Dangerous?" Nathan bit out. He wanted to say that he feared his father was becoming more abusive, but he couldn't do that—betray his father; in turn betray himself. So, he decided on anger. "No, he's not dangerous, Peyton," Nathan's voice was bitter, "just—drinking more. God, I don't even know why I brought it up." Nathan sunk himself deeper into his bed. What was he doing? Peyton was only trying to help.

"_I'm sorry, Nate,"_ Peyton replied feebly, _"I didn't mean it like that. I promise I'll stop interrupting—keep going."_ Just like always, Peyton submitted to Nathan without so much as a blink.

"I got home tonight, and I find a glass in his hand, and a bottle of Scotch making itself at home on the table next to him. I don't know what I'm getting at." Nathan was beginning to close his emotional gate. He could feel the coldness begin to set over his skin once more, and he knew that he'd have to change the subject.

"_You're worried, Nathan, that's all. As you should be." _Peyton gave a slight smile; she loved the rare occasions that he opened up to her.

"So, what're you drawing?" Nathan placed his trademark smirk back on his face.

Peyton closed her eyes tightly. He was back to being the jackass Nathan. _"Um, just random stuff,"_ Peyton returned, twirling her pen in her hand.

"Stuff? Come on, Pey, I honestly want to know." Nathan sounded so genuine—it made Peyton feel sick. The way he was acting was too much like the beginning of their relationship: perfect.

"_Well, I'm drawing the social ladder of Tree Hill," _Peyton told Nathan uneasily. He'd judge her—she knew he would.

"Really? Wow, Pey, that's pretty deep. When you're done I'd love to see it." Nate was doing everything in his power to be kind. Lucas could take basketball from him, but it would be over Nate's dead body that Luke won Peyton.

"_You—you would? Yeah, okay, for sure." _Peyton smiled, and leaned her back against her pillows. She could get used to this new (or old, if she really thought about it) Nathan.

"Great," Nathan returned, sitting up and removing his sweatshirt. With only a tank top underneath, he somehow felt totally bare. As much love as he got from Peyton, he couldn't help but crave more. He wanted her to come onto him full of lust, tear off his thin tank top and begin devouring his chest and torso in kisses. Maybe if he was lucky, she'd even throw in a nibble here and there. Nathan smirked at his thoughts.

"_Yeah, well, are you sure you're okay Nate? You could come and stay with me if you want…" _ Peyton wanted him with her. That was the only way she could know for certain that he was hers.

"Serious? I'll be over." With that, Nathan closed his phone with a smirk, tugging his sweatshirt back over his head. Nathan crept slowly and silently down the stairs. Turning into the kitchen, he went out the backdoor; closing it oh so carefully behind hm. Leaning his 6'2" frame against the door, Nathan couldn't help but smile; he was free. Slipping into his Mustang, this was the one instance he regretted not having an engine muffler. Wrapping his fingers around the wheel, Nathan debated actually starting the car. If he did, Dan would surely hear the commotion and punish Nate for it every day following. Sighing, the temptation of Peyton was too great. Revving up the engine, Nathan quickly rode off.

Making his way down the sleepy streets of Tree Hill, he obsessively looked in his rearview mirror for his father to be trailing him. Thankfully, luck seemed to be on Nathan's side. Taking a left turn, Nathan rode down the dark street until he reached Peyton's house: fifth one down, house number seventy-seven. Nathan smiled. Taking the keys from the car, he slipped them in his pocket, and got out of the car. Jogging to the door, he let himself in and made his way to Peyton's room.

_Knock, knock. _

"Hey, beautiful," Nathan greeted as he pushed the door open mildly with his knuckles. Peyton turned from her work, leaning back on her hands with a smile.

"Hey there," Peyton smiled at her boyfriend. She had to admit, Nathan did look quite sexy standing over her in his red sweatshirt. Red worked for Nate like a charm—especially crimson, Peyton had decided. Why did Nate Scott have to be so god damn appealing? It made it hard to refuse him anything.

"So, thanks for letting me come over," Nathan replied, seduction seeping into his tone. Making his way over to her form on the bed with his flawless saunter, Peyton felt her self-restraint begin to fall apart. Peyton sunk into Nathan's side when he sat down—his taut body against hers was sensory overload. Wrapping her arm around Nathan's strong torso, she pulled him in for a kiss. Their tongues soon found each other, all too desperate for one another. Cupping Peyton's soft cheek, Nathan knew this was exactly where he wanted to be.

Breaking the kiss momentarily, Nathan rolled himself on top of Peyton, sinking her into the bed, and allowing his body to completely press up against hers. Peyton couldn't keep her eyelids from fluttering, and she felt herself begin to succumb to Nate entirely. Pressing her body up even closer to Nathan's, she knew she'd fall asleep with Nathan having been laid; she smirked into his kiss.

* * *

><p><em>Tree Hill High School—Next Day<em>

Walking into school hand in hand, Peyton leaned in closer to Nathan. It was at school that Peyton had to stay on the lookout; she could always count on other girls pandering for Nathan. But she had been strong; Nathan was still hers, so she must be doing something right. Peyton Sawyer looked up at her boyfriend to find him standing tall and cocky; playing his social role well. Leaning in deeper to Nathan's side, Peyton inwardly sighed—she was to play her role flawlessly too.

Nathan stiffened as he saw Lucas coming towards him. Putting on his coldest glare, Nathan went out of his way to shove Luke with his shoulder, sending his older brother into the opposing traffic. Peyton felt Nathan move away from her, and she looked to find Lucas colliding with a passing student. Feeling Nathan's fingers fiddle in her clutch, Peyton lifted her eyes to Nathan, letting Lucas' bewildered form leave her sight. Although his muscles were accustomed to the cocky basketball star look, Nate's eyes swirled with so many fragmented emotions. Nathan was deeper than he let on, and Peyton was only just beginning to understand just how dark and down his personality went. She felt Nathan then move closer to Peyton once more, and she leaned in childishly to Nathan—they were interdependent on each other.

"Sorry, man," Nathan sneered at Lucas sarcastically, smirking as Lucas glared in return. As Luke stomped off, Peyton gave Nathan a look of disappointment melded with sympathy. Nate only returned her with a shrug of the shoulders, an innocent tint glowing in his sapphire eyes. Peyton let the matter go instantly.

Lucas turned around to watch Peyton fade away into the crowd, linked happily to Nathan. The visual made Lucas sick. He had been madly in love with the girl since freshmen year; around the same time as she and Nathan had begun to date. Although Luke didn't know Peyton on a very personal level, he could imagine just how perfect she was. Shaking his head slightly, he continued to the gym where Whitey had asked to meet him. Swerving his way through the mess of people, Lucas couldn't help but feel stressed. Soon, he'd have his one shot at making the varsity Tree Hill basketball team. If he didn't make it, not only would his dream be lost, but Nathan would have won—Luke couldn't let that happen.

Finally reaching the gym, Lucas pushed open the door to find Whitey standing in the middle of the court with a cart of fully pumped basketballs.

"You made it," Coach Durham greeted Luke as he walked in. Lucas froze at the acknowledgement.

"Um yeah, I did," Luke returned, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Take your hands out of your pockets son; they won't help your game hidden in your jeans." Whitey gave the boy an amused smile.

"Right, uh, sorry sir," Lucas replied, instantly removing his hands from his jeans.

"Relax, Luke. I can't have a tense player on the team. If you're a solid player, you shouldn't have to prove anything—you'll just perform. So, ten free throws, son." Whitey nodded towards the cart of balls, and Luke nodded, rolling it over to the free throw line. Taking a ball from the cart, Lucas placed his right foot on the line. Bending down and extending his left leg slightly behind him, he breathed heavily. Bouncing the ball with his right hand his habitual five times, Luke squared his shoulders and raised the ball in front of his forehead. Eyes squinted; the only thing Lucas focused on was the basket. Breathing in, he let the ball leave his grasp. He watched intently as the ball sunk into the netting; there was one. Lucas smiled.

"Nine more to go; don't celebrate just yet." Whitey crossed his arms and watched as Lucas made eight out of his next nine shots. Whitey smiled lightly at the sight of the other Scott brother almost matching the skill of his brother.

"Lucas, I've seen you play before; I know what you can do. The only thing standing between you and success as a member of the Ravens is yourself. The moment you walked in here, you were as tight as my legs on Sunday morning. The only way you'll be successful is if you loosen up. If I give you this chance, Lucas Scott, will you lighten up? Basketball is a game—a source of fun before anything else."

"I'll loosen up, Coach, I promise." Lucas gave a giddy smile, before hearing the warning bell ring for getting to homeroom. Luke looked at his new coach expectantly.

"Get to class, son. I will see you in the gym at three-fifteen." Whitey crossed his arms, smiling as Lucas nodded eagerly, running off to homeroom. There was a skip in his step as Lucas jogged off to homeroom, pulling his backpack higher up on his back.

* * *

><p>Lucas walked in a daze between periods one and two. Environmental Geo-Science had gone by in a blur and all that Lucas could think of was the Ravens and his future on it. As Luke walked in the halls with hazy vision, he spotted Hayley.<p>

"Hales," Lucas called, catching Haley at the water fountain.

"Hey, Luke, what's up?" Haley smiled at the bright features of her best friend… something good had just happened to him. She leaned back on the wall, crossing her arms and waiting for Luke's news.

"Hales, I'm on the team… I'm a Raven!" Lucas' smile was so brilliantly large, Haley wasn't sure she could process it all. Smiling in return, she wrapped her arms around Luke, resting her head on his chest.

"Congratulations, Luke, I knew you could do it." She hugged Lucas tighter.

"It's all because of you Hales," Lucas returned, looking down at her.

"Oh stop it," she gushed, smiling brightly, face slightly flushing. "So you have your first day of practice after school?" Haley looked up to her friend.

"Yeah, I do. So I don't think I'll be by the café tonight." Luke shrugged apologetically.

"Hey, no worries. Go do your b-ball thing," Haley gave a confused roll of the eyes.

"Ha ha, alright, I will. Talk to you later." Luke gave Haley a small wave, before turning and walking off to second period.

* * *

><p><em>Ravens Practice—After School <em>

Lucas entered the locker room at three-o-five, giving himself just enough time to change. Shrugging his backpack and gym bag off of his shoulders, he shoved the backpack into the one locker without a name taped on it. Setting the gym bag on the bench behind him, he was so grateful that he always brought the clothes with him. It seems that playing at River Court had prepared him for more than just his game. Pulling his white T-Shirt over his head, he heard other players entering the room. Throwing the shirt into the locker, he turned towards the door to find Nathan and his friend Tim strutting in. Tim looked to be the Joker, willing to entertain the King whenever he commanded. Lucas wouldn't be surprised if Nathan ordered the kid to open his locker for him.

"What're you looking at Roe?" Nathan questioned coldly, sneering at his half brother. Nonchalantly putting his code into the lock, Nathan whipped it open, removing his sweatshirt swiftly—the same red one he had worn last night. Lucas looked at Nathan's conditioned muscles, and felt himself suddenly self-conscious of his own body. Lucas was in shape, no doubt; but Nathan was a seasoned athlete. Nate was raised and designed so that his body would be perfectly compatible with the sport of basketball.

"I'm not looking at anything," Luke finally responded. The elder Scott wasn't in any mood to get into a verbal battle with Nathan before his first practice.

"Well, on the court all you'll see is me passing you by with the ball I just stole from you," Nathan retorted, tying his right tennis shoe. Pulling the strings together harshly and tightly, Nathan couldn't wait for practice. He'd quickly put Lucas in his place—and that boy's place certainly wasn't on _his _team. Nathan cracked his knuckles partly to remind Lucas of last night's occurrences, and partly to get himself ready for a practice he'd actually have to try in.

When Lucas only glared in returned, Nathan snickered, telling his brother oily, "I'll see you on the court." Nathan exited the locker room as other players came filtering in. Tim followed feverishly after Nathan, the players entering the room careful not to accidentally bump Nathan. Number twenty-three certainly did have this team under lock and key of his personal lockbox. Lucas would retaliate against Nathan's powerful fist and law as much as possible.

* * *

><p>"As you've all probably noticed, we have a new teammate joining us. Lucas," Whitey looked to the elder Scott, "welcome to the Ravens." Coach Durham supplied Luke with an approving nod, smiling at him. Luke remembered what he had promised Coach, so he tried to relax his tense muscles.<p>

"Thanks, Coach," Lucas returned, looking around at his fellow teammates. As he did so, the other Ravens looked to the disposition of Nathan, and began to copy his disapproving features.

"Well come on now, greet your fellow teammate," Whitey instructed his team in sugar-coated warning.

"Hey Luke," his Raven teammates muttered out of sync to him, barely able to make eye contact with Lucas. Number three's muscles tightened again as he sensed the hostility and tension his fellow players had towards him. When Nathan had warned that this season would be hell, he wasn't kidding. Luke wished he had pockets he could hide his hands in—he desperately wanted anything to mask himself with.

Whitey sighed; he knew that was as good it was going to get today when it came to matters of accepting Lucas to the team. Rubbing his hands together, he addressed his team: "Alright, so as promised, we have another day of conditioning." Whitey supplied his boys with a taunting smile. He watched as some of his team began to moan. "No complaining," he chastised, "you brought this upon yourself. Everyone grab a ball and get on the end-line."

"What's the punishment today, coach?" Nathan questioned monotonously, putting his hands on his hips. The team turned their attention to Coach for the fateful answer.

"You will turn your back to the basket, and I will call out someone's jersey number. They will need to make two free throws. Make both, the team won't have to run the value of your number. Make one, they'll run half. Miss both, well, I'm sure you can imagine," Whitey smirked slightly. "You're number three, by the way Lucas," Coach Durham told Luke. The Scott boy nodded in return, shakily grabbing a ball off of the cart and joining his team on the designated line.

"Twenty-five," Whitey called out from the sideline. That was Tim's number. The entire team's heart fell at the calling of Tim—he had the worst free throw percentage on the team. Nathan could hear as Tim bounced the ball sporadically, waiting for the opportune moment to shoot. Then, there was no more bouncing of the ball. Nathan held his breath. The team cringed when they heard the ball hit against the rim.

"You'll at least run twelve, boys," Whitey informed the team. Nathan rolled his eyes. Again Tim dribbled the ball. This time, his bounces were more desperate, and Nathan felt sick to his stomach. He knew Tim; twenty-five didn't do well under pressure such as this. When the bouncing stopped, all the boys tightened. Again the ball hit the rim.

"Damn it," Nathan whispered under his breath, and turned around with the rest of the team.

"So you'll do end-line to end-line, and down and back is worth one; you have twenty-five, gentlemen. And make sure you touch the line, hmm?" With that, Whitey blew his whistle and the boys were off. (x)

"Solid practice today, boys. We play the Jaguars at home tomorrow—I expect you all to perform your very best. Hit the showers." Whitey turned from his team, beginning to collect his belongings from the bleachers. The Ravens limped their way to the locker room, not daring to look back at Whitey—he might make them run more.

Once in the locker room, Nathan ran his aching body under the hot water. Running a hand through his soaking hair, he closed his eyes. After this, he was meeting Peyton. He didn't care that his father had instructed him to be home by eight; Nathan was determined not to let Dan control his life. Turning around, Nathan shut the water off, grabbing his towel from the small wall that enclosed the showers. Wrapping it around his waist, he made his way swiftly to his locker. The sooner he got out of here, the more time he could have with Peyton. Slipping on his clothes, they still smelled of Peyton's from last night. He smirked at the erotic memory.

Slamming his locker shut, he slung his backpack and gym bag over his shoulder and walked out of the room.

* * *

><p>Once out of the school, he found Peyton sitting on the bench near the gym, waiting for him patiently; still dressed in her blue and white cheerleading uniform. Nathan shook his head with amusement as he approached her.<p>

Peyton looked up to find Nathan standing over her. Presenting him with an inviting smile, she patted the space next to her, and Nathan eagerly sat down. He winced as his tight muscles strained to work.

"Rough practice?" Peyton asked with empathy. She knew how brutal a coach, or captain, could be. Brooke had been working them nonstop lately for their upcoming competition; Peyton felt Nathan's pain.

"You could say that," Nathan replied tightly, finally sitting comfortably on the wooden bench.

"Well, this is nice," Peyton smiled. She had the urge to lean her head on her boyfriend's shoulder and cheesily count the stars, but she knew Nathan would decline. He always kept her an arm's length away; even when they were entwined as one. The thought disheartened Peyton, but she wasn't about to let it show. It was miracle enough that Nathan was even sitting next to her in the current moment.

"Yeah, it is. We haven't done this since our third date," Nate smiled in return, dropping his eyes to meet Peyton's.

"You remembered what date it was?" Peyton could barely get the words out. It was so out of character for him to mention something Nicholas Sparks-ish.

"Yeah, I remember," Nathan laughed, getting lost in the memory.

* * *

><p><em>A recently turned fifteen year old Nathan walked tensely to the door of his girlfriend Peyton. They had only been dating for about a week and a half, and this would mark their third date. Straightening his shirt, this was the first time Nate was actually picking up Peyton from her home. The blonde usually came to his house, or they went somewhere straight from school. Breathing in, Nathan prayed that Peyton's parents liked him. He went over in his head how he would shake Mr. Sawyer's hand firmly, being sure to keep eye contact. He'd smile at Mrs. Sawyer sweetly, complimenting her on how beautiful her home was—or something of that sort. Finally reaching the steps, Nathan jogged up them quickly, knocking on the door. He waited in tight silence for someone to greet him at the door. The door swung open to reveal a disheveled Peyton; still looking beautiful, of course. Nathan smiled.<em>

"_My dad's not home," Peyton told him with bitterness she was attempting to hide, "you can stop messing with your shirt." Peyton smiled at her boyfriend. She loved how nervous he was; the innocent look was quite complimenting on Nate. Too bad her father couldn't see the gem that she had caught. Later that day her father had told her he was leaving for Italy for three weeks. _

"_Oh—um, well, you ready to go?" Nathan dropped his hands into his jean pockets. _

"_Yeah," Peyton returned slowly, "so are we walking?" She looked over Nathan to find no car behind him. His parents had been unwilling to drive, so he decided that walking was better than no date at all. _

"_Mhm," Nathan nodded, "is that okay? The movie theater is only a mile or two away." Nathan looked at Peyton expectantly. _

"_Yeah, no worries," she nodded in reply, walking briskly off of her porch. Sauntering down the sidewalk, Peyton looked up to Nate. "You know what I hate?" _

"_What's that," Nate responded looking to his new girlfriend in amusement. _

"_Society. Social status, media, movies, TV shows, the petty drama, jobs… all of it." Peyton crossed her arms, huffing her air heatedly. _

"_Oh, really?" Nathan egged her on. "Expand that for me." Nathan nudged her jokingly. _

"_Well, I mean jobs. Why do they have to take people away from their lives, just so they can get money to spend on things they'll never get to use because they're working? Or—or how about drama? I mean why does fighting have to be so appealing to the human race? What's so great about making everything fall apart? So they can build it up again? That's just a cheesy excuse. Humans like to destroy things, and they just put them back together to do it all again; it's so pointless. And then, there's the idiotic complexity, that we somehow think makes us so much more advanced. Like someone has to leave for their job, so they can pay for those things they can't use, and they get into an argument with their family over them having to leave, and one thing turns to another, and no party is happy—and that money might as well be squat." Peyton breathed heavily. _

"_Wow, that's some feelings you've got there," Nathan told her in all seriousness. He knew she was venting about her life; he envied her for doing so. Nathan's life was anything but simple, yet he couldn't put his feelings into words in the way Peyton had just done. Some days, he wished he could. _

"_That's not all. Okay, so movies—what's their deal? They promote all these petty things our culture thrives on, just feeding the fire…" _

_As Peyton spoke of every flaw in the human culture, Nathan led her in a different direction other than the movie theater. When Nathan stood in front of a park bench, Peyton turned to look at Nathan in utter confusion. _

"_What are we doing here? I thought we were going to a movie?" Peyton cocked her head to the side. Nathan chuckled in reply. _

"_Well, I thought I'd save you from the spot that is practically a breeding ground for everything you just claimed to hate. So, I thought a nice park and simple and natural stars would be a good remedy for an over stimulated teenager like you," Nathan told her in all honesty. As he went to sit down, Peyton caught his face in her hands. Smiling at her boyfriend lovingly, she whispered: _

"_Thank you, Nate, this is perfect." She lightly went on her tippy toes and touched Nathan's lips softly with her own. Nathan replied to the kiss with gentleness and Peyton couldn't keep her heart from racing. It was the perfect first kiss._

* * *

><p>As Nathan repeated the story to Peyton, her face lit up quite like it had that night under the stars. Looking up to the glistening stars, Peyton smiled; catching Nathan's soft cheeks with her hands. Rubbing her boyfriend's face, she lightly kissed him. Memories had a powerful influence on the present.<p>

"You remembered," Peyton whispered sweetly as they broke for air, and Nathan gave her a nod, connecting their lips once more. Just then, Nathan felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Rolling his eyes, he broke the kiss and pulled out his phone.

Peyton watched as the smile faded from Nathan's face, and his flush skin went utterly white. On the caller ID, was Dan Scott. Nathan gulped, and then flipped the phone open.

"Hello?" Nathan greeted as strongly as possible.

"Where the hell are you? It's eight-fifteen, Nathan. I told you eight." Dan's voice was tight and furious. Nathan felt the acid of stress slowly start to eat away at and burn his stomach. Nausea was overcoming him.

"Dad, I'm only fifteen minutes late. It's not the end of the world."

"No, it's not," Dan agreed darkly, "but it certainly is the end of yours. I told you that you would not like the consequences. And Nathan, that little stunt you pulled last night in leaving will certainly earn you some suicides when you get home." Dan's voice was bleak and black, the toxic hatred sinking into Nathan's pores.

"Oh come on, that's not fair," Nathan bit into the phone, breaking is gaze from Peyton. He clenched his phone tightly in his grasp, his knuckles turning white.

"You have ten minutes to get home. Fail to do that, and I add more sets to your punishment."

"But dad, I have to take Peyton home; there's no way I can get there in ten." Nathan pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I don't care if you have to escort the president—be home, or face the consequences." Dan then cut the call, and Nathan received a busy signal.

"I can walk," Peyton whispered, lightly touching her boyfriend's knee as a form of support.

"No, I'm not letting you walk. And I'm not letting my dad control my life either. He can make me run as many suicides as his black heart wants to, but I still won't let him control me. Come on," Nathan nodded towards his car, and Peyton rose from her seat obediently, picking up her bags from the ground.

* * *

><p>Finally speeding into his driveway, Nathan checked his phone: eight-thirty. He was only five minutes past the designated time assigned by his father; Dan couldn't possibly punish him for that. Slipping out of the car and entering the house, he found Dan standing in the threshold.<p>

"Don't even think of entering this house. We're going to the court until you learn your place in this world. You do not have the authority to disobey me, Nathan. You're five minutes late, and you still have to receive your punishment for sneaking out last night. This idiotic behavior ends tonight—I'll sweat it out of you; or beat it out. Whichever works first. Backyard court; now." Dan crossed his arms, nodding sharply for his son to walk around the house and to the basketball court they had built in the backyard. Nathan gave his father a look of total resentment, but did not try to retaliate.

Walking around the house, he stepped onto the court. His father was already standing there, whistle in hand. "On the line, Nathan," instructed Dan coldly, and Nathan put his foot on the end-line. "You'll do six suicides for every minute you were late, so that's thirty. Go."

Nathan obeyed grudgingly, his tight muscles screeching at him for forcing them to run once again that day.

"Faster!" Dan Scott bellowed, and Nathan succumbed to the command, the hatred and coldness growing in his veins hand heart. If someone questioned why Nathan Scott was the way he was, seeing this interaction between father and son would surely lend them an answer.

* * *

><p>This chapter truly did take me a while to write, and I'd love to know what you think. Reviews really do help me better my story. If I don't have your feedback, I can't improve, or write in things that you'd like to see. So, please drop me a quick reply. By the way, sorry for such a long chapter!<p>

_Be good and review! _


	3. It's Called Life for a Reason

_Narcissistic Cannibal _

_Three _

"_It's Called Life for a Reason" _

The alarm clock blared, waking the aching Nathan with a start. Lifting his eyes darkly to the clock, the deep red numbers glared at him, challenging him to face the day with a smile on his face. Exhaling sharply, Nathan propped himself up on his elbow and silenced the evil piece of technology with a quick slap of the hand over the snooze button. Falling back onto his mattress, Nathan rubbed his hands over his face. Pulling on strands of jet black hair with his short nails, Nathan debated getting up at all. His body was in tears, still seeming to sweat from the running the night before. Sinking his head deeply into his feather pillow, he knew the big bad world awaited him outside—he'd have to face it; whether of his own will, or by his father's forceful fist.

The thought of his father made Nathan's heart plummet in angered fear to the pit of his stomach. Nathan had a game tonight, and he knew his father would be on his case: before, during, and after. The thought made Nathan want to stay in bed even more. Sighing, Nate wanted so badly to cry. Cry because of stress, family, relationships… life. He hadn't the slightest clue why fate had deceivingly presented him with the world, but had failed to give him what everyone desires most: love. Sure he had blinded peers who saw him as the popular rich superstar, and of course he had the girls, who loved him for his looks and his reputation in bed. But it seemed to Nathan that no one truly loved him for him. The world was simply infatuated by him and his charismatic accomplishments and potential. Clearing his throat, he swiftly let go his thoughts of self pity.

"Nathan! It's six-thirty!" Dan's perpetually disappointed tone voiced to his son, "and you also have a game today. You cannot be late. Get down here, now." Nathan rolled his eyes at his father, utterly annoyed with the voice and presence of Dan. The man simply did not know when enough was enough. Nathan feared that Dan would soon push him even past his breaking point. What would happen then? Nathan didn't even want to begin to explore answers.

Slipping his body slowly out of the comfort of his bed, Nathan's skin was shocked at how cold the air was outside of his cozy fortress. Wrapping his arms around himself protectively, Nathan tugged at his tank top with his fingers. He briefly considered taking a shower, but Nathan knew Dan would be flying up to his room all too eager to reprimand him for taking so long. Nathan again rolled his eyes. The motion was becoming an instant reflex to anything involving his father. Slipping on a pair of faded jeans, Nathan pulled out his black jacket that proudly had the number twenty-three stitched on the back. Slipping on his shoes and ruffling his hair with his hand tiredly, he walked to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

As Nathan squirted the toothpaste over his toothbrush, he again heard his father's voice, reminding him of the time. Nathan angrily dragged the brush over his teeth, and then swiftly answered the call of his father.

* * *

><p>Nathan entered the kitchen, avoiding all eye contact possible with Dan Scott. Going over to one of the cabinets, he pulled out a bowl and Special K. As Nate poured the crunchy material he heard Dan sip his coffee loudly. Nathan turned to look at Dan.<p>

"Your mother called this morning," he told his son blandly, taking another sip of his black coffee. Nathan's ears perked up at the sound of his mother's name. She had always been the one to protect Nathan from the wrath of his father—but that was years ago. Deborah had given up on fighting for Nathan, and the consequences were starting to pile up. Deborah Scott was allowing her husband to poison her son with his twisted outlook on life, by staying away.

"What'd she say?" Nathan asked, brining his bowl to the table. He hated having a civilized conversation with his father. It gave both of them the illusion that everything was okay—it surely wasn't.

"She said that her trip has been extended another week. Apparently they're making such great progress, she can't leave." Dan's voice was tight, and Nathan could tell his father was all but pleased with the situation. Nathan himself was not exactly thrilled. The longer his mother was gone, the longer Dan had total control over him. The fact made Nathan feel completely trapped.

"Oh, um, okay, well… yeah. So, I'm going to go. I'll um, see you at the game, Dad," Nathan supplied his father with a tight and toothless smile, grabbing his backpack and gym bag from the chair beside him. Walking from the kitchen, Dan called to him.

"Nathan, don't forget: you're coming home right after the game. You've lost all of your privileges for the next three weeks." Dan gave Nathan a satisfied smirk, taking yet another sip of his coffee.

"Yeah, okay," Nathan dismissed, and continued his way out of the house. Shutting the front door behind him, Nathan sighed, staring at his Mustang. The car could take him anywhere; the car could help him find freedom. Yet, all it did was ride around the sleepy streets of Tree Hill at a ridiculously slow speed limit. Nathan's Mustang was just as trapped as he was.

Spinning his keys around his pointer finger, Nathan walked to the vehicle, throwing his bags into the backseat. Taking his place in the driver's seat, Nathan didn't put the key into the ignition just yet. The temptation to ride off in a completely different direction than Tree Hill High School sat heavily on Nathan's shoulders, but he couldn't do it. Nate couldn't because of his father, mother, basketball, Peyton… he hated how tightly chained down Tree Hill had him. Closing his eyes, he started the car and rode towards his suffocating daily life.

* * *

><p>"What's wrong with you?" Peyton asked with a mild chuckle when she found Nathan with his head down on one of the tables in the courtyard. Sliding in next to him, she began to rub his back softly, hoping to get her boyfriend to look up at her. Peyton felt Nathan stir under her touch, and she looked down to his face that was now resting on his arm. Nathan's bleary sapphire eyes looked up towards Peyton's glowing face—the difference in their physical states made Nathan cynically laugh internally.<p>

"When I got home yesterday, my dad made me run for punishment," Nathan finally grumbled in return, sighing lightly. Peyton looked at her boyfriend with a confused look.

"Running for punishment? That's one I've never heard before. I would've expected grounding." Peyton ran a hand through her hair. She was enjoying this alone time she was getting with Nathan; especially when he was like this. When he was dependent, weary, and not so hotshot Nathan, he had this innocent boyish charm to him that Peyton could not resist.

"Oh, he did that too," Nathan told his girlfriend bitterly. Nathan again buried his head in his arm. The jacket material felt splendid against his skin, and the little bit of darkness it provided was utterly seductive to his overtired mind. He'd do anything to just fall asleep.

"Aw, Nate, I'm sorry," Peyton empathetically told Nathan, again rubbing his back lightly. She could do this all day if he'd let her. This harmless Nathan warmed Peyton's heart. It was moments like this that reminded her that Nathan was more than just what his father had made him. Deep down, Nathan was fragile and full of genuine emotions. It saddened her that he couldn't show that to the world. Nathan very rarely even showed it to her.

Nathan began to lift his upper body from the table, and Peyton quickly removed her hand from his back. Watching the weary Scott, Peyton noticed how pale he was. The boy looked utterly dead, and Peyton knew all too well that Nathan wouldn't let her help.

"You look exhausted," Peyton commented full of concern. She wanted desperately to run her fingers along Nathan's cheek, to comfort him in his feeble state. Just as she reached up to touch her boyfriend's skin, Brooke Davis came strutting over. Peyton let out a long breath of air, and moved her hand slowly from Nathan.

"Hey best friend," Brooke beamed at Peyton, her dark hair flowing wonderfully in the soft breeze. "Boyfriend of best friend," she greeted Nathan. The Scott supplied Brooke with a tired nod of the head before rubbing his face with his hand.

"Hey, Brooke," Peyton replied, giving the girl a slight smile. Brooke took that for a welcome, and she plopped down lightly next to Peyton.

"I'm going to go to homeroom," Nathan muttered, giving Peyton a soft peck on the lips. Peyton knew for certain then that something was wrong. Nathan was always in the mood for a deep and sensual kiss, but today he didn't even seem genuinely in the mood for a subtle peck. Watching Nathan's retreating form, Peyton wondered what could have him so worked-up and stressed. Peyton tapped her fingers absentmindedly on the table.

"Hello, best friend here wanting to talk to you," Brooke said sarcastically, trying to snag Peyton's attention.

"Yeah, hi," Peyton replied, forcing her eyes to leave Nathan. Looking to Brooke, Peyton saw the glimmer in her eyes; she had something mischievous on her mind. "So what's up?" Peyton asked, placing her elbows on the table.

"What's up with Nathan?" Brooke asked, dismissing her friends' question and nodding her head in the direction that Nathan went.

Peyton sighed. "I wish I knew, Brooke. I'm worried. He's so not himself, and that bothers me." Peyton shook her head, giving her friend a face of swirling emotions. She hoped and prayed that Brooke could talk her through this—tell her that she was overreacting and that everything would be fine.

"Oh, don't worry; he'll be ready for the game tonight. Your boyfriend won't lose his superstar status," Brooke replied, waving a blithe hand of dismissal. Peyton held back the tempting reply of an annoyed sigh.

"I don't care about his basketball status right now, Brooke. I'm worried about _him_. Nate's just so dead. I mean I know that I complain all the time to you about how egocentric he is, and how overly proud he can be, but I prefer that to what he is today. Nathan just seems broken, and I can't even help him. What does that say about me as a girlfriend?" Peyton ran her hands over her face. It mildly terrified her how concerned she was with the matter. If she honestly admitted it to herself, she loved Nathan. It was as plain and simple as that. The only issue was, did he feel the same way? With his recent distance, it was hard for Peyton to tell anymore.

"Okay, wasn't prepared for such a deep discussion before eight-o-clock, but wow, P. Sawyer, you really care about this. What happened to the 'our relationship is just sex. That's all it can be'? I mean it's great that you're feeling emotionally attached to him, I just want to know what changed." Brooke looked at her friend, curious as to what Peyton's response would be.

Brooke knew very well that Peyton was in love with Nathan Scott. She'd never doubted that since the two started dating freshmen year. But she wasn't sure where Nathan stood—the boy was a complete mystery when it came to his feelings on things. The last thing Brooke Davis wanted to see was Peyton broken hearted. So, when Peyton had told Brooke that her relationship with Nathan was mostly physical, Brooke couldn't have been more relieved. If Peyton kept it that way, she wouldn't be so shattered if something happened between her and Nathan.

"Well, when I told you it was just sex, I was trying to convince myself that. I think I told you that over the summer, right?" Brooke nodded in return. "Yeah, well, he had just come back from a basketball camp, and he was distant and cold. I didn't know why, and I knew he wasn't going to tell me, so I tried to tell myself that I didn't care; that it was all just physical."

"And now?" Brooke raised an eyebrow at her friend.

"And now, I don't know. He's so hot and cold. Like sometimes he'll tell me anything and everything, and it's great. And then there're other times when he won't even tell me what basic emotion he's feeling. I wish I knew why exactly he's doing this… it would make it a lot easier to deal with." Peyton sighed.

"Yeah, it would, but you know Nate—he's not good with feelings and compassion and all. Just give it time. It'll work out." Brooke patted Peyton on the shoulder, happy to see that some of the weight had lifted from Peyton's shoulders and there was a gleam coming back into her eyes. Brooke smiled. She saved all of her seriousness for conversations like this.

"Thanks Brooke," Peyton replied genuinely, hugging her best friend around the waist.

"Anytime, best friend," Brooked returned, patting Peyton's hand. Just then, the bell rang and the two girls parted ways to go to homeroom.

* * *

><p>Nathan vacantly spun the combination to his locker between fifth and sixth period. The day was dragging on painfully slow, and it was only just beginning it seemed. Nathan lightly leaned his head on the locker next to his. Sighing, he pulled his pre-calculus textbook from the locker, and slammed it shut.<p>

"Hey," a female voice greeted him, and Nathan shot his head up. When he looked to the girl on his left, he recognized it to be Haley James. It took all of Nathan's resistance not to roll his eyes. The two had had a head butting in Comparative Religions class a couple of days ago.

"What do you want," Nathan deadpanned, pulling on his icy exterior. Walking past Haley and towards sixth period, he hoped she wouldn't follow. No such luck.

"I want to apologize to you for going at you so harshly in class. I guess I just got mad at your comments about God. I don't even go to church, so I don't know exactly why I did, but that's not the point. The point is, I was wondering if you wanted to work together on the project together that we were assigned yesterday. Consider it a truce?" Haley looked up at Nathan, her heart fluttering. He was so beautiful and elegant; yet so far away.

Nathan looked to the exuberant girl blandly. She was too innocent for his liking. Her jeans were loose in the places they should be tight, and every bit of her figure was left to the imagination. Haley would have been a fun test subject to chase around, and finally get a look at the body she hid so well, but her clothes took any invisible sexiness she had. Looking at the girl, her pastel pink sweater only made her look two years younger and three times as innocent. Her hair hanging naturally straight did absolutely nothing for her cheekbones which would have otherwise been great, and that eager smile was all but appealing.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," he replied, continuing to walk. At least if he worked with Haley, he'd get a good grade. And still, Haley followed diligently. This only served as a catalyst for Nathan's growing irritation.

"Okay, great," Haley smiled, "so what class are you going to next?" Haley wasn't quite sure why she was still following Nathan, but something kept her from stopping and turning to go the opposite way. It bothered her that she couldn't figure out the reason. Haley James was usually very good at knowing her feelings fully and clearly. Nathan made her think illogically, and that terrified her.

"Somewhere you're not," Nathan told her blandly, picking up his pace. Haley realized that Nathan was in one of his fouler moods, so she slowed her walk.

"Yeah, okay, well, bye," Haley replied quietly and weakly, giving Nathan a limp wave goodbye. Haley crossed her arms, breathing out sharply. Why did her wild and nonstop mouth always have to ruin everything? She wanted to hit herself repeatedly in the head for acting so weird and desperate in front of Nathan.

As she walked her way to class, Haley reflected on her feelings towards the Scott brothers. One was the sweet, caring, passionate one who brought out and accented her personality. The other, was the dark, superstar, fiery one who awoke parts of Haley's personality she didn't even know she had. Jumping between the two brothers, she didn't know which one she liked more. All she knew for certain was that she could not tell Luke about her feelings towards Nathan—she knew she'd lose him if she did.

* * *

><p><em>Tree Hill High School Gymnasium—Pregame Warm-ups<em>

"Practice your shots boys, you're going to need them tonight," Whitey advised, taking his stance on the sidelines. The players began to grab basketballs off of the racks, dribbling their way to various lines on the court to shoot from.

Nathan dragged his feet slowly to the balls, lazily rolling one off of the cart with his hand. He allowed the ball to bounce freely a couple of times before taking control over the object. As Nathan did so, Luke jogged over to the cart, taking the last basketball from the racks. He watched as Nathan slowly dribbled onto the court, and Luke sighed. Placing the ball under his arm, he stared at Nate, wondering what had the usually fiery competitor in such a melancholy funk.

"You ready for tonight, Luke?" Whitey asked, taking a few steps closer to the elder Scott. Luke scanned his eyes over the bleachers that were slowly being cluttered with people. He tried his best to keep his muscles from tightening, and turned his gaze to his coach.

"Yeah, I am, Coach, it'll be a good game." Luke gave Whitey a smile, nodding his head just to reassure himself.

"Good answer, son. Since you're so ready, I want you to take Nathan's spot as shooting guard. I'll put him at point guard for tonight." The look Whitey gave his player conveyed the vibe of 'you have no choice but to say okay'. Luke dropped his basketball to the floor, beginning to dribble it; it gave him time to think.

"Okay, Coach, if that's what you think is best. I'll try my hardest to make you proud," Luke returned, smiling slightly at Coach Durham. Luke knew that Nathan would not be pleased that he would be taking his spot, but that was a risk Lucas had to take.

Again scanning the growing audience, he noticed the cheerleaders warming up. Peyton was stretching her quad; while Brooke leaned down to loosen her hamstring. Both the girls looked utterly stunning, but the one he could not take his eyes off was surprisingly Brooke. The way her dark hair fell so lithely over her shoulders and forehead made Luke tingle, and he held back the urge to go and talk to her. it somehow felt wrong for him to be attracted to Brooke. Luke knew very well that Haley was not the hugest fan of the head cheerleader, and Lucas didn't want to lose Haley because of a mild crush. Brooke Davis was also friends with Nathan—if Lucas pursued her, he wasn't sure how merciful (or brutal) Nathan would be. Lucas Scott had already joined his brother's team and stolen his position; taking one of his friends may be pushing it. Luke dribbled his basketball once more, and then jogged onto the court.

"Nathan, would you come over here for a second, please?" Whitey called, and Nathan grudgingly replied with a nod. Walking past his brother, he gave the elder boy a sharp glare. Luke had been talking to Whitey, and now he was being called over—his bastard brother certainly had to have done something. As he jogged over to his coach, Nate noticed his father sitting in the second row, staring intently at him. Spectacular.

When Nate reached Whitey, he stayed quiet, waiting for his coach to speak. Whitey realized Nathan wasn't going to supply him with any sort of greeting, so he began to talk. "Nathan, Lucas is going to play shooting guard tonight. I'm putting you at point guard."

"P—point guard?" Nathan seethed, "why? That's not fair. Shooting guard has been my position since freshman year." Nathan wanted to scream. How many more things could go wrong and be taken from him? Nate ruffled his hair to try and calm himself. Giving a glance in his father's direction, he saw Dan's body tense, and a cold glare glaze icily over his eyes—Dan certainly wasn't going to let Nathan live this down.

"Well, tonight it's Lucas'. Do your new position justice, alright? I don't want you to half-ass it because you're not pleased." Whitey looked at his star player, and saw the look of cold hatred melded with frenzied fear. Whitey knew life wasn't as easy on Nathan as it should have been, but that still gave the boy no excuse to disobey or fight against his coach's orders. Whitey pointed towards the court, silently telling Nathan to continue warming up. Nate replied with a mild roll of the eyes, and turned on his heel, heading back for the court.

"Congratulations, Roe, you just earned yourself a death wish," Nathan muttered darkly to Lucas, who was just preparing to shoot. Luke tightened his grip on the ball, resisting to glare at Nathan in return.

"It wasn't my call, Nathan," Luke replied feebly, taking his shot. He watched it intensely, praying to god that it would go in. If it didn't, it would only give Nathan more to scrutinize and penalize him for. Luck seemed to be against Luke in that moment, for the ball hit the rim with an agonizing ring. Lucas could sense Nate smirking behind him.

"Good luck keeping that spot," Nathan taunted threateningly, before dribbling and setting up for a shot in the three point range. Flicking the ball with flawless form, the ball spiraled beautifully to the basket, falling gracefully through the netting. Shooting guard was _his_—it would never be Luke's.

* * *

><p>Mouth sat comfortably next to Haley, his tape recorder pressed up eagerly to his mouth. He watched as the players went crisscrossing across the court, getting ready for the big matchup about to begin in eight minutes.<p>

"With eight minutes until the starting jump ball, the tensions couldn't be any higher at the Ravens' home court. The stands are filled tonight, ladies and gentlemen, with eager fans waiting for the great matchup between the Tree Hill Ravens and the Oak Town Jaguars. Both teams with a perfect season thus far, the penalty for leaving tonight with a loss is quite great. As the playoff creep closer on our two high school teams, the intensity of this game is guaranteed to be high. New player Lucas Scott has joined the Ravens' starting lineup, taking his half brother's position tonight as shooting guard. I'm sure everyone in these stands will be interested to see if Nathan and Lucas Scott can put aside their differences for the duration of the game—the future of their season depends on it."

Mouth turned off his recorder, as the scoreboard counted down the last minute until starting time. The boy couldn't have been happier that Luke would be playing. For years the two had talked about playing and commentating for the Ravens, and tonight that dream was finally coming true. Mouth sat on the edge of his seat, as the Ravens and Jaguars took their positions on the court. Pressing the on button, Mouth waited for the ball to be tipped.

"And we're off," he said excitedly. "The ball was won by Tree Hill point guard Nathan Scott, and the Ravens now begin their descent down the court. Scott has passed the ball to small forward Tim Smith, and Smith will now dribble for a moment or two before dropping the ball back to Scott." Mouth's eyes were darting left and right, trying to keep up with the quick game. "The Jaguars have now double teamed Scott, forcing him to give a bounce pass to his open brother…" Mouth watched as Luke went down the court. "Lucas Scott uses his agility to bypass one of Oak Town's powerful forwards, and goes up for the layup…."

"Oh, no, the shot has been denied! The ball is now bouncing freely… oh, picked up by number twenty –three at the three point line! Nathan lines up a shot, releases… and it's good! Nathan Scott has made the score three-nothing Ravens!"

_Fourth Quarter—Two Minutes Remaining _

"Two minutes left in this ballgame, folks, and we have found ourselves with a tie score: eighty-four to eighty-four. Lucas Scott dribbles around the half court line, trying desperately to find an open player. Nathan Scott breaks away from his hovering defender, and is open for the pass. Lucas gives twenty-three a precise bounce pass, and with that, Nathan drives for the basket. There is one minute remaining, and this shot may be the last of the game: the deciding shot. The success of the Tree Hill Ravens rests on the shoulders of the junior Nathan Scott—will he deliver? Nathan brings the ball up, multiple defenders coming towards him. From just shy of the three point line, the ball is released by Scott, and the home crowed goes silent as they await their team's fate. Ten seconds to go folks and the ball is still airborne. Nine, eight, seven… and it's in! The Ravens have taken the win up by three!"

The audience went crazy at the winning basket, screaming and jumping on the bleachers. The cheerleader waved their pompoms in frenzy, Peyton Sawyer beaming more than any of the others. Her Nathan had won the game for his team. It wasn't that that had never happened (it happened quite often), it was the state in which it happened. Nathan had been in a funk the entire day, his father seeming to suffocate him even more than usual, and now he had won a dire game for the Ravens.

As the referees jotted down the final score, the cheerleaders went running onto the court to try and grab the attention of one of the players. Peyton made her way over to Nathan, hugging the glistening skinned boy tightly. Nathan reciprocated with an uncharacteristic enthusiasm, pulling his girlfriend closer into his chest. Peyton heard Nathan's solid and quick heartbeat, and smiled, cuddling in closer to him.

"Congratulations, Nate," she told her boyfriend, just loud enough for him to hear. Nathan smirked, lightly running his hand through the ends of Peyton's hair. He wanted her in his arms forever.

Brooke watched the sweet moment between Nathan and Peyton, and smiled. It was always a treat to see Nathan acting like a true and kind boyfriend. As Brooke scanned the mass of people on the court, she spotted Lucas Scott wandering the court with his hands on his hips.

Brooke Davis had noticed the boy when he first walked onto the court, and Peyton had informed her that he was Lucas Scott: Nathan's estranged half brother. The dirty blonde appealed to Brooke immediately. Not only was he talented at basketball and quite alluring, he also presented himself as somewhat dangerous—for her. Brooke loved the drama that would ensue if she pursued Lucas, and she smirked. Lucas was also known for being a good boy; he surely wouldn't be once she was through with him. Brooke made her way over to Lucas.

"Good game, number three," she said seductively, putting her body suggestively close to his.

"Um, thanks," he replied, rubbing the back of his head nervously. Brooke Davis was talking to him—was close to him. Lucas' heart began beating frantically, not sure what to do next.

"There's going to be a party after this," Brooke replied slowly, beginning to lightly trace her finger over the "Ravens" printed on the front of Lucas' jersey. Luke tightened at the gesture. He knew he should ask her to stop; she was going way too fast for his liking. But then again, he was too aroused to tell her anything.

"Oh, um, really?" Luke replied nervously.

"You should come," Brooke smiled slyly, lifting her dark eyes to Lucas' light. She knew he wouldn't be able to resist her.

"Yeah, okay, where is it?"

"It's cute how naïve you are," Brooke laughed. "Nathan's beach house. I'll be waiting for you there," she smirked, tracing the 's' on his shirt slowly and harder than she did the other letters. Luke could only in return. He was completely frozen, as he stared at Brooke walking away. He knew very well he shouldn't go to the party. It was a school night, he didn't want to drink, and he certainly shouldn't want to have sex. But as he watched Brooke's voluptuous butt, all his inhibitions crumbled before him.

* * *

><p><em>Locker Room—After the Game<em>

"Well deserved win tonight, boys," Whitey congratulated his team who were sitting on the benches in front of him. "Be ready for practice tomorrow, and have a well earned rest tonight."

The boys made their way to the showers.

* * *

><p>"Good game tonight, Nathan," Luke said hopefully as the team got dressed. Nathan pulled his navy T-Shirt over his head, holding the bottom hem as he turned to look at his brother. Lucas just didn't know when to shut up, did he?<p>

"Yeah, thanks," he returned blandly. Propping his foot up on the bench, he tied his shoe, and then the other. He was ready. Feeling his phone vibrate in his jean pocket, he looked at the caller ID: it was his father. Nate sighed heavily, and ignored the call. He knew that Dan wanted him home after the game. But Nathan wanted to go to the beach house for his party, and that's what he was going to do. Dan couldn't control Nathan as much as he forced, pressured, or wanted to. Nathan's father could make him run every night—that wouldn't change what his son did.

Slinging his gym bag over his shoulder, Nathan slammed his locker shut, turning his back to Lucas.

* * *

><p>So I wanted to include the party in this chapter, but I felt like I should save it for the next one. I hope you guys are still enjoying this story; I know I love writing it! I also wanted to thank everyone who subscribed, favorited, and reviewed this story; it means so much to me. Please keep it up, and if you haven't reviewed, please consider doing so! Thank you again for reading.<p>

_Be good and review! _


	4. For Those Nights I Can't Remember

_Narcissistic Cannibal _

_Four _

"_For the Nights I Can't Remember" _

Nathan and Peyton stood on the basketball court once again, after Nathan got out of the locker room, Peyton now wrapped tightly in her boyfriend's arms. She gazed at the people slowly filtering out of the gymnasium, and gave herself a small smile. Though time was moving on, she and Nathan still stayed perfectly where they were—it was quite poetic. Tapping her white shoe against the wooden floor, she began to quietly hum _Higher Love _by Steve Winwood. Peyton Sawyer could never understand why, but the song always came to mind when she found herself in special moments like this with Nathan.

"You're coming to the party tonight," Nathan said, looking down to Peyton. It wasn't necessarily a question, not quite a command. He began to trace the small of her back not covered by her cheerleading uniform, a smirk deepening on his features with every movement of his index finger. Peyton looked into Nathan's azure eyes deeply, searching for something—anything. It seemed like the second Nathan stepped foot onto a basketball court or encircled his fingers around a basketball, his smugness was heightened, and his cockiness exaggerated way past the point of tolerable.

Peyton Sawyer breathed heavily, still keeping eye contact with Nathan. No matter how much she complained, she knew she'd never go anywhere. She'd gotten to the point where Nathan's flaws were all covered by the excuse of 'oh, it just makes him human and that much more adorable'. Although it was true in a sense, Nathan seemed to be catching on to Peyton's lenient disposition towards him; using it now to his ultimate advantage. Peyton dropped her gaze from Nathan, beginning to tap her fingers in thought against the tight muscles in Nate's back.

"What about your dad?" Peyton asked, looking up at Nathan, whom she was still holding tightly around the waist.

"My dad?" Nathan laughed a bitter and humorless laugh. His eyes blackened, and he stopped the light tickles on his girlfriend's back. "My dad has already done everything possible to me; and I've survived. Whatever his punishment is for this, I can handle it." Nathan's voice was endgame, and Peyton knew she'd never sway Nathan otherwise.

Biting her lower lip, she nibbled at the soft and puffy tissue. Consciously, this was in thought (she always seemed to be in thought when she was with or thinking of Nathan). But in her subconscious, Peyton was readying her lips for Nathan's kiss. Why she was so stupidly irrational when it came to Nathan, Peyton wish she knew.

"Well," Peyton replied softly and slowly, "I'll be there then." She smiled, attempting to lighten the mood; whether for herself or for Nathan. "So, will my boyfriend kindly by my chauffer tonight?" She laughed slightly, dropping her eyes from Nathan.

Nathan only laughed momentarily in return, starting his mindless tracing on her back once more. Peyton shivered at his touch, willing to submit to him whenever he commanded. As she got lost in the sensory sensation, Nathan's tickles became more heavy and tense. Peyton lifted her eyes to Nathan, following his gaze.

Dan Scott was beginning to meander his way over to his son, with a look of dark determination on his face. Just as Dan was closing in on them, a man walked up to him, distracting Dan from his son. Nathan grasped Peyton's hand, dragging her into the crowd of people filtering out of the gym.

Looking back to his father, Nathan was sure Dan was flaunting the successes of his son, maybe throwing a statistic in here and there just for good measure. Nate couldn't help but smirk. Although Dan may be on the top one-hundred worst fathers list, he certainly was a spectacular sports agent. If anyone could get Nathan into the NCAA and eventually the NBA, it would be Daniel Scott. Licking his lips to clear the satisfied smirk from his face, Nathan slipped out of the gym without his father noticing.

Entering into the chilled air, Nathan breathed deeply, looking up at the blackened navy canvas above him and Peyton. The stars just popping up in the sky seemed to wink at Nate mischievously, giving him the go-ahead to have a rowdy night.

"That was close," Peyton commented nonchalantly as Nathan guided her towards his Mustang; his hand still tightly enveloping hers. With Nate Scott, Peyton could always expect an adventure. That was one thing that had drawn Peyton in instantly to him. Nathan had taught her how to add a spice of fun to her life… something she had never been able to master before him. Nathan had introduced Peyton to an entire world she thought only existed in stereotypical fiction written by authors who had never actually accepted reality.

"Yeah, it was close," Nathan echoed, slipping into the driver's seat. He waited until Peyton got into her place beside him before speeding from the Tree Hill High parking lot.

* * *

><p>The couple sat in silence as they drove to Nathan's beach house. Peyton began to bob her head subtly to a beat caught in her head, and Nathan only clenched his jaw tightly. Although Nathan was perfectly in control on the outside, internally, he was anything but. Dan Scott had a way of unraveling anything concrete within Nathan, and it was slowly killing the boy. Nate wasn't sure how many more times he could take gun powder exploding in his stomach.<p>

"So, um, who's bringing the kegs?" Peyton asked timidly. It was the oddest of icebreakers, but sadly she knew it was one Nathan would reply to. On party nights, all that seemed to be on Nate's mind were sex and alcohol. Peyton usually did her job well with providing the former, but she had never been of much assistance with the alcohol.

"I think Tim is," Nathan replied distantly, gripping the wheel slightly tighter. "Tim better actually get the keg this time," Nate muttered partly to himself, partly to Peyton.

"Why, what'd he get last time?" Peyton cocked her head to the side. Wasn't alcohol just alcohol?

"Drafts," Nathan replied, as if he was about to spit on the apparently disgusting word. "Kegs are usually fresher than drafts," Nate informed his girlfriend matter-of-factly. Peyton nodded slowly, still trying to make sense of Nate's words. Although she wouldn't put it past Nathan Scott to put that much importance on the type of beer, she found his obsessive-compulsiveness much deeper than the bottom of a bottle or barrel.

"Oh," Peyton replied, trying to sneak a tinge of attentiveness into her voice. "So how many people do you think will come?" Peyton foolishly hoped it would be a small and intricate group. Peyton rarely found herself in situations with Nathan that didn't include at least one member of his loyal posse.

"However many people Tim and Brooke can get," Nathan replied, excitement barely hanging onto his tone. "And whoever the other guys bring." Other guys referring to teammates; Peyton sighed. She could always count on Nathan's fellow Raven's to bring horny and alcohol-crazy friends. Peyton knew from the start that the group would be anything but small, but what unnerved her was the way Nate was reacting to it all. He seemed to be in no mood to play host, and teetered between being melancholy and flat out depressed. Peyton worried too much about Nathan; she tried to convince herself that he was fine… but that was as difficult as pouring raindrops back into the cloud. Peyton Sawyer hated when Nathan Scott acted like this. When he did, she could never feel content until he was again.

"Are you okay, Nate?" Her voice was just a whisper. Peyton crossed her arms, hugging her petite waist and feeling the chilled skin not covered by her uniform. Peyton Sawyer had never considered herself to be a shy or timid girl, but around Nathan, she was anything but strong. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing; it was nice to feel somewhat dependent and hesitant.

"What do you mean?" Nathan's voice was bland. It was tainted with the same perpetually cynical vibe Dan's voice had. Breathing in shakily, Peyton took her eyes from Nate. In this moment, he was too horrifyingly akin to Dan.

"You just seem down, that's all," Peyton replied, attempting to keep a passiveness to her voice. She lifted her eyes for the umpteenth time that night to Nathan's face. It still seemed stagnant and dead, holding nothing but pain and vacancy. His sapphire eyes were burnt out; his usual passionate fire nowhere to be found. Nathan just seemed utterly cold, inside and out. Peyton knew that Dan had something to do with his son's current state, but she felt that there was something much more significant to Nathan's misery.

"I'm not down," Nate bit back defensively. "I'm just tired; relax, Sawyer." Nathan began to fiddle his fingers on the wheel. Peyton shook her head sadly, tightening her arms around her torso. Nathan never called her 'Sawyer' unless he was annoyed, or she was probing too deep into something too personal. Peyton figured it was a blend of both in this case. But still, she would not give up; Peyton Sawyer never gave up. If she was a quitter, she would have left Nathan a long time ago.

"Come on, Nathan, please; tell me what's wrong. Keeping it all to yourself won't make your problem go away." Peyton lightly rubbed Nathan's arm, and he shockingly didn't flinch away. A small part of him even seemed to cuddle deep into her touch. Peyton gave a subtle and sad smile. Maybe all Nathan needed was love; unconditional, sensitive, genuine love. Peyton could provide that—she always had.

"You really want to know?" Nathan's voice was shallow. He wanted desperately to tell her what was on his mind. Nate knew very well that Peyton would help and not judge him. But it wasn't in Nathan Scott's blood to be weak and admit his feelings openly. Nathan slowed down his mind to think: maybe he was even weaker by _not_ admitting his feelings. He sucked in a breath of air tightly, his mind at civil war.

Peyton responded to her boyfriend with an eager and supportive nod. Nathan sighed, obliging.

"My dad told me today that my mom would be away another week." Nathan's voice was soft as he spoke, "and I wasn't shocked about that. My mom has been gone most of my life it seems. But now, it's different. I'm old enough to know that over half of the things my dad tells me are complete crap. He thinks that winning and success are all that matter." Nathan took a hand from the wheel, raking his fingers through his shiny raven hair. "Dan thinks that anything can be solved and dealt with through basketball. Peyton, he's turning me into him. I tried resisting, but it's inevitable." Nathan shook his head, his body internally shuttering from admitting so much to Peyton. It felt good to get the weighty emotions off of his chest, but they seemed to hang toxically in the air now.

"Nathan, you're not going to turn into your dad." Although Peyton said it, she wasn't completely positive of it. "You're so much more than him already. Nate, it's okay to admit things like this. It's also okay to have part of your dad in you. You're everything positive in Dan, Nathan. Never lose sight of that." Peyton rubbed Nathan's arm now with more of a solid touch, and Nathan smiled meagerly in return.

"There're just so many contradicting voices in my head, Pey. My dad pounds one kind of logic into my head, while I whisper another. I'm lost. Even basketball seems foreign to me." Nathan laid his head on the headrest of his seat. The more he told Peyton, the more vulnerable he felt.

"Basketball?" Peyton cocked her head to the side.

"Yeah, I mean it's the one thing me and my dad have in common; it's what he's been preaching to me all of my life. Somehow I feel like I should hate it, but I don't."

"And that… scares you?" Peyton was trying her best to process what Nate was telling her; she never knew when she'd encounter another conversation like this with Nathan.

"Yeah," Nate returned lightly, "it scares me to death. If I can love something that means so much to a heartless man, what does that say about me?"

Peyton held Nathan's forearm lightly. "It just means you love basketball. Lots of people do: cocky pricks, genuine gentlemen… does that mean you're like them? No. it just means you have one thing in common with them. Nate, basketball's a big part of your life. Don't destroy it just because your dad introduced you to it and loves the game." Just as the smile formed on Peyton's lips, they pulled into the driveway of the beach house. Peyton turned frantically to Nathan, hoping his sensitive side was still reigning dominant. Peyton's heart crumbled into her stomach when she saw the swaggering poison drenching Nathan's face again.

* * *

><p>Nathan strutted into the house, Peyton reaching her hand quietly out to him, but Nate didn't even look back to her. Tim and a couple of the other Ravens already occupied the beach house. Plastic cups were littered across every flat surface imaginable in the living room and kitchen, and the kegs were stationed cozily on the kitchen countertops. Nathan smirked at the sight, and began to gravitate to the booze.<p>

As Nate reached for one of the stacked up cups, his phone vibrated in his jean pocket. Rolling his eyes in absolute annoyance, Nathan pulled the phone out, looking numbly at the caller ID. His father's name glared at him from the screen, and Nathan quickly ignored the call. Nate knew very well that Dan would soon stop his obsessive calling, and retire to an evening of Scotch and college basketball on EPSN. In any case, Dan Scott couldn't stay too angered with Nathan anyway; father lived vicariously through his son. If he was to ground Nathan, what life would he have to live?

Peyton observed Nathan staring at his phone, and she leaned against the white wall behind her. She wished he'd walk over to her, and vent about whoever the call was from. Peyton just wanted to feel needed and important to Nathan—and not just physically. Peyton could be a wonderful support system, if only Nathan would fully let her. It was a moot dream.

She gazed on as Nathan filled his plastic cup to the brim, and brought the liquor straight to his lips. He downed half of it with ease, before having to stop for air. Peyton figured it was a lot easier to be a one night alcoholic when you had problems to eagerly drown.

* * *

><p>The partygoers had been arriving sporadically all night, the first round of partiers already fully drunk—Nathan included. Peyton still sipped on her first cup of beer, not seeming able to stomach large quantities tonight. She sighed. Brooke had been playing seven minutes in heaven with any boys willing to join her in the upstairs bedroom, and Nathan was busy challenging his teammates to chugging contests; leaving Peyton utterly sober and alone. Usually when this happened, she'd immerse herself in the alcohol, but tonight it just seemed to make her sick. Breathing deeply, Peyton wandered over to the couch in the living room—just hoping to finally catch Nathan's attention.<p>

"Babe," Nathan greeted her in a fog, a dumb smile sloshing around on his face. Putting his cup on the coffee table wobbly, he lazily took hold of Peyton's forearm, leading her away from the crowd.

As Nathan opened the screen door which led to the porch, Peyton followed willingly, just happy to finally be noticed by her boyfriend. Once her tennis shoe covered foot touch the wood of the deck, Peyton began to stop moving. Nathan though, had other plans in mind. Leading her down the few little steps, the couple landed on the sandy ground. As she followed Nathan closer to the water, Peyton felt the sand particles pile up in her white shoes. The feeling was quite unpleasant, but she kept it to herself.

Nathan stopped finally right in the surf. Both their shoes were utterly drenched, but Nate only laughed. It was a loose and meaningless laugh, and Peyton found herself hardened by her boyfriend's lack of maturity.

Grabbing hold of Peyton's hands, Nate began to slightly spin the two of them in circles. Although Peyton barely had any alcohol in her blood, she still felt dizzy from the circular motions. Shaking her head, she leaned forward to stop herself from spinning. Nathan too, was then forced to stop, and he gave her a distant but displeased look.

"Why'd you stop?" Nate slurred, slightly swaying from side to side. Peyton supplied him with a stony glare.

"You're drunk," she deadpanned, taking her hands out of Nathan's. She crossed her arms tightly, waiting for her boyfriend to reply.

"I'm not drunk," he chuckled woozily. "C'mon Pey, it's just a little fun." The loose smile appeared once again on Nathan's lips.

"Nathan," Peyton warned slowly. Nathan only laughed in return, catching Peyton's hands in his grasp once more. He began to sway their entwined fingers back and forth, continuing his drunken laugh.

"I love you Peyton," Nate finally slurred, still slightly chuckling as he did. Nathan didn't even seem to comprehend what he had said, but Peyton had. She'd never heard him say that to her. Peyton breathed heavily. She had imagined for so long how Nathan's tongue would slide over his teeth to produce the 'L"; she had dreamed of the way Nate would exaggerate the "O" and finally drag his pearly teeth over his red lips to form the "V" sound. It had been so magical when Peyton had thought about it. Nate would have held her hands firmly yet softly, looking her right in her hazel eyes, and said the three words with all the sincerity he had within him. It wasn't supposed to happen like _this_. Peyton didn't even know if Nathan would remember this tomorrow.

Just as Peyton opened her mouth to reply, Tim called to Nathan form the porch, beckoning him to enter in the upcoming drinking contest. Nathan's alcohol-induced smile widened and he dropped Peyton's hands, sauntering over to Tim.

Peyton stood in her place totally frozen. No matter under what circumstances it had happened, Nathan had told Peyton he loved her. She had to be dreaming. Running her hand up and down her left arm, she knew she had to find Brooke.

* * *

><p>Wandering her way to the stairs, Peyton saw Brooke Davis clutching onto the railing loosely, her feet stumbling over the steps. Peyton walked up to her best friend, steadying her. Brooke giggled in reply.<p>

"Hi there, Pety Babe," Brooke said, the beer smell radiating from her breath. Peyton gave a tight smile.

"Can I talk to you?" Peyton asked the question in all seriousness. She knew it was stupid, since Brooke was obviously drunk out of her mind, but it was worth a shot.

"What's up, Baby Cakes?" Brooke plopped down heavily on the stair, and Peyton followed her movements. Still holding on to Brooke's upper arm to keep her steady, Peyton turned to look at her friend.

"Nathan told me he loved me, Brooke." A pleasantly surprised smile danced its way onto Peyton's lips, illuminating her face. Brooke only looked vacantly at her friend.

"Brooke! He said those three words! What do I do?" Peyton ran a hand through her hair excitedly.

"You're too sober for me," Brooke drawled in a drunken haze. She hadn't even processed what Peyton had said.

Peyton rolled her eyes. "Well, do I ask him about it? I mean I know he's drunk, but do you think he still could've meant it?" Peyton's mind was flying at a hundred miles per hour.

"Pety Pie, I'm running on so much alcohol right now, I can't even remember how to blink. Take a chill pill, or just get drunk, okay? It's a party; you're way too serious." Brooke began to pull herself up, slipping helplessly over the stair. "And you wonder why Nathan leaves you at these parties," Brooke mumbled as she walked past down the stairs and towards Lucas.

Peyton sat on the stairs numb. Could that be true? Did Nathan really find her that uptight? The questions shot pangs of ice through Peyton's torso. Squinting her eyes in determination, Peyton rose from the stair, heading for the beer keg.

* * *

><p>Sorry for the short chapter. School has been killing me this week, so this is the best I could do. I do have a question though: for the next chapter, would you rather see a continued party scene with some drama, or a more serious one with a conversation between NP about love? I'll do both at some point, but I just wanted your input. And I'm sorry for not having any Brucas in this… I tend to get caught up in Neyton. Also, I know Nate might seem slightly out of character, but I felt it was time for him to at least open up somewhat to Peyton. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed nonetheless!

_Be good and review! _


	5. Wreck of the Day

_Narcissistic Cannibal _

_Five _

"_Wreck of the Day"_

Dan Scott pushed the end button on his phone harshly. This was the tenth time he had tried to get a hold of his son. If Dan really stopped to think about it, he could probably guess that Nathan was at the beach house, celebrating the win. But Dan Scott didn't want to give into logic so quickly. He'd prefer to let his anger sizzle and burn within him, until it erupted—at which point he would take it out on his son.

The only way Dan had ever known how to release his emotions was on the basketball court or by taking it out on those around him. Since he was now stuck in horrid adulthood, having to sell cars for a living, basketball was no longer an option. That left Nathan (and Deb when she was around) at the mercy of Dan's blistering temper, and up until now, Nate had been a good sport about it. His son's life had always been basketball, school, and obeying his father's commands. But then Nathan entered into high school, and girls had to happen… Peyton Sawyer had to happen.

Dan had warned Nathan from the beginning that she would only bring him down. She was a nonconformist with cynical remarks about the mainstream way of life. Dan Scott feared that Peyton would soon pull Nathan completely out of his grasp, and fill his son's vulnerable head with theories and conspiracies. Peyton was probably tempting Nathan to plot against him, just out of spite. Dan pinched the bridge of his nose, still grasping his phone in his hand tightly. He knew he had to go to the beach house. Slamming his phone onto his thigh, Dan rose from his chair and grabbed his keys from the coffee table beside him.

* * *

><p>Peyton leaned up against the wall, holding onto her cup of beer with all the sturdy power she had remaining. Since storming down the stairs after her talk with Brooke, Peyton had downed four beers, barely even breathing between gulps. From the corner of her hazing eyes, she noticed Nathan smirking at her. Peyton rarely went all out with the alcohol, but when she did, she proved to be a very wild girl free of any and all inhibitions.<p>

Even as the alcohol sat in her stomach, she still felt internally sober. Yes she was fading from logic and reason, but it was a slow process. She wished the beer would kick in soon, or else it would be a terribly long night. Glancing at the clock to the left of her, it read twelve-forty. Rolling her eyes, she downed the rest of her beer.

She looked over to Nathan, who was still giving her glances now and then. Peyton still couldn't get his words off of her mind: _I love you, Peyton_. Had he meant it? Gripping the plastic cup tighter, she hated that the beer could not erase the thought from her head.

Deciding her isolation was taboo in this type of setting, given her role as the star basketball player's girlfriend, she let the now empty cup fall from her hand and she staggered her way over to Nathan. Her boyfriend was sprawled on the couch, a final few drops of beer lingering in the cup dangling loosely from his fingers. Even though the sight would usually put Peyton off, in her drunken state he looked undeniably sexy. She would pounce on him in front of everyone if she could. All Peyton wanted were Nathan's hands running all over her body, and his lips touching every available bit of skin. She wanted him, and she wanted him now.

Taking the last couple of steps towards him, she knelt down beside Nathan on the couch, kissing him deeply. Nate responded eagerly, not allowing the surprise of her touch to faze him. Peyton ran her tongue over Nathan's lips, begging for entrance, and he of course allowed her in. Feeling the slickness of his mouth, Peyton held Nate's face in her hands, finally feeling the alcohol take over.

"Hell yeah," Tim cheered from his spot in the chair adjacent to Nathan and Peyton. Retracting her lips from Nathan's, Peyton rolled her eyes. Even in a party with fifty other people, Tim still clung to Nathan in every way possible; aggravating Peyton further each time he did so. Nate breathed a disappointed sigh when his girlfriend rose from her kneeling position next to him on the couch.

Sliding up his body so his back was propped up against the armrest of the couch, he reached for Peyton's hand, catching it tightly. Pulling her nearer, Peyton didn't deny Nathan's drunken beckoning. Leaning into him with a smirk, as Nate guided her to lie on top of him, Peyton felt a giddy rush. She was wanted, and noticed. It was all her sixteen year old heart could ask for.

"Take this upstairs?" Nathan whispered into her ear with a flirtatious raise of the eyebrow. Peyton knew she didn't have much of a choice in the matter, but even if she did, she wouldn't deny him. Nodding nonchalantly, she maneuvered her way off of Nathan, making sure to drag her fingers lightly down his torso as she did so. When Peyton's hands reached the waistband of Nathan's jeans, she curled her lithe fingers under the material, taunting his desperate teenaged body.

* * *

><p>Lucas looked at the couple, in utter disgust. He stood in the most secluded corner of the living room, almost stranded in the hallway. Luke crossed his arms, trying not to let his distaste be given away on his features. The red slick material of a cup felt odd and unwanted in Lucas' hand. In all, he had probably taken no more than five little sips of the beer since the night began, and he already felt himself nauseous. Leaning his head back on the all too perfect white wall, Luke breathed deeply. Why was he even still here? Brooke was passed out somewhere in the large house, and Peyton was succumbing to Nathan pathetically. Luke had no interest in anyone but those two girls, and they were currently occupied… he should just leave. But there was a very strong urge and need inside of Lucas to stay—stay to protect them.<p>

Luke had never minded being in the shadows; but now, he wanted no more than to be in the light. Lucas wanted to be noticed so Peyton could finally see him, fully and clearly. He longed to be in the light so Brooke wouldn't lose interest in him. Lucas Scott wanted the limelight, because if he had it that meant Nathan didn't. But alas, Nathan had the full attention of everyone in the room, and Luke was in his isolated little corner. Status quo was reigning supreme in the beach house party setting, but hopefully soon there would be a coup. Luke Scott knew that as long as Nathan had at least a hint of power, the social hierarchy would stay the same. Lucas bit his lip, beginning to envelope himself in self defeat.

"Pouting isn't going to change anything, you know," Jake Jagielski advised nonchalantly as he walked up next to Lucas.

"You never know—miracles happen," Lucas drawled in return. Swirling his stagnant beer with a lazy twirl of the wrist, he shifted his eyes to look at Jake.

"I don't think this is one of those cases. If you really want to change things, you've got to take some initiative." Jake knew Lucas' weakness all too well. He himself had had the same issue. But when push came to shove, he had stood his ground, and won Jenny from Nikki's polluted grasp.

"And what do you suggest I do?" Luke retorted blandly. Lucas wasn't used to taking advice from others—he was always the one to give it. It wasn't that Luke was necessarily stubborn, he just knew how his life should work out; and taking counsel from Jake Jagielski was not part of the plan.

"Luke," Jake started with a humorless laugh, "just do _something_. Nathan isn't going to change just because you're over here moping in the corner. In fact, it only makes him more powerful. Show him you exist."

"Want me to get into a fist fight with the guy?" Lucas replied sarcastically, lifting his red cup to his lips. The beer oddly burned as he swallowed, and he felt a knot forming in his stomach. Lucas Scott knew very well that if he wanted any change, he'd have to be the catalyst. The problem was, he'd have to sink down to Nathan's level to achieve it. Were popularity, the spotlight, and possibly winning Peyton worth it? Did those shallow things that only matter in high school really justify him becoming just like his brother? Lucas wasn't a power-hungry Neanderthal… so why was he having these thoughts? The questions began to consume him.

"I don't think fighting with Nathan is the answer," Jake replied timidly. Although the words flew from his mouth with an odd sincerity, he knew that Nathan would only truly respond to Luke if it was due to physical abuse.

"Well I don't think he's much of a diplomat," Luke returned, resting his shoulders against the wall.

"Show him up on the court, then," Jake replied with a shrug. He liked Lucas too much to watch him crash and burn in the wrath of his brother. Jake knew Luke was genuine, and kind, with a good head on his shoulders. But if Lucas really did turn the tables on Nate, could the elder Scott handle the popularity and power without mistreating it?

"If I try and beat Nathan on the basketball court, it'll only fuel the temperamental bastard even more." Luke found himself bringing the alcohol once more to his lips. He stared darkly and numbly at Peyton and Nathan who were still flirting suggestively on the couch. The foreplay was killing him… probably more than if Peyton would simply guide her boyfriend up the stairs for the real deal.

"Luke, I can't tell you how to solve your problems. But, I do think you need to do something. Just keep in mind that you have just as much of a right to succeed as Nathan does. _He_ knows how to get what he wants… it's not wrong for you to learn that too." Jake gave Lucas a light slap on the back before walking into the hallway.

Luke looked down at his cup, realizing that there was more of the white interior showing than the caramel-brown liquid. Luke sighed. What was he going to do? He'd been trying to beat Nathan through basketball, but the kid was just too damn good (it killed Luke to admit that). Lucas had tried using empty threats and words when Nathan had challenged him at the River Court, but that had proved to be pointless. Force was the one tactic Luke hadn't tried yet. He knew that it wasn't like him to use a body part to prove a point, but he was getting desperate. Nathan was winning while Lucas kept losing—it just didn't seem fair.

Maybe Luke could just subtly harm Nate; a little 'accident', perhaps. Lucas shook his head. This had to be the beer talking. But scanning his eyes over the room, Luke felt himself completely sober. The words flying in his head were his alone… the reality horrified Lucas. He had only been on the basketball team for a short week, and he already felt himself changing. Even as the guilt rose inside of Luke, the thought of him taking down Nathan was all too tempting. Even good people do bad things for just causes, right? Lucas prayed to god that that was a yes. Breathing in heavily, he watched bitterly as Nathan and Peyton finally rose from the couch.

* * *

><p>Peyton took hold of Nathan's hand, beginning to guide him to the stairs. They'd have to go through the hallway to get there—which meant they'd be passing Lucas.<p>

As Nathan stumbled to follow Peyton, the resentment was growing rapidly inside of Luke. His heart racing, and his eyes darting, Luke stuck out his foot subtly, hoping to catch Nathan with it. The swaying drunk hit Luke's foot just as planned and Nathan went tumbling to the ground. Lucas quickly retracted his foot, mimicking the look of utter shock everyone else had plastered on their face. Peyton felt the jolt, and whipped around to watch her boyfriend hit the floor with a thud. There was evident pain on the great number twenty-three's face, and Peyton couldn't help but feel dismayed.

Peyton crouched down next to Nate, a sudden rush of logic filling her body and mind. "What's wrong, what's hurt?" She stumbled over her words, trying to see what part of his body Nathan was favoring. The boy slowly ran his hand down his right leg until he reached his ankle. Nate grasped the part of his foot, seething as he touched it. Peyton shook her head nervously. What was she to do?

"Your ankle?" Peyton asked, partly trying to make sure she had guessed right and partly just to use up more time. She had to think. There were over fifty pretty wasted teenagers in Nathan's beach house, and now she had one _injured_ drunken teenager. She couldn't call any parents, and she certainly couldn't call an ambulance. If Nate wanted to get his ankle looked at tonight, she'd have to drive him… she was in no condition to do so.

"Yeah," Nathan confirmed weakly. Nate knew this was bad. Basketball would probably be shot for a few dire games, his father would certainly destroy him for being so stupid, and his life would be flipped upside-down. Nathan had never been good without his beloved sport. When he had hurt his arm, he had been completely lost; he knew this time would probably be even worse. This year, he was a junior… which meant college scouts would come to watch him play. With Nathan being injured, he'd lose out. Nathan laid his head down on the wooden floor in defeat.

"You'll be fine," Peyton's voice echoed in Nathan's ears. "It's probably just a little sprain. Can you get up?" Peyton stood up slightly, and stepped back to give Nate more room. Nathan looked up to his girlfriend, hopelessness, pain, and determination all fusing into one horrific mess of a storm in his cobalt eyes. Nate began to slide his legs up to his stomach, and lifted his arms from the floor. As he moved, it all seemed pretty easy. But as he began to turn from his side, his right ankle turned. Nathan choked on the pain, but still fought through it. Starting to stand, Peyton held him by the arm for support. Finally rising to his full 6'2" height, he turned to face Peyton.

"Thank you," Nate told her, sincerity swaying sweetly in his words. Peyton gave him a small smile, and nodded her head.

Lucas looked at the couple, mainly his hurt brother, and the guilt overtook him. Yes he had won in getting Nathan off of the basketball court, but Peyton was still most definitely Nate's. Luke hated himself—why had he let jealousy get the best of him?

* * *

><p>Peyton led the limping Nathan down the eerily quiet corridor, trying not to notice the shocked stares of the fellow students around them. Reaching the front door, she turned to knob swiftly, allowing it to swing open.<p>

"Watch out for the stairs," Peyton warned, as she went slowly down each step, still keeping a tight hold on Nathan's arm. As the couple reached the one remaining stair, a set of headlights pulled into the driveway. Peyton held her breath. Who the hell could that be? Dan Scott? Peyton wanted to run, to save her own ass and to keep Nathan from his father's terrible rage. Maybe she'd be lucky and it would be a latecomer to the party.

When Peyton heard a foot slam on the asphalt and a car door smack shut, she knew it was no partygoer. Peyton bit her lip, feeling her fingers latch tighter around Nathan.

Dan Scott came storming towards the couple, his eyes glaring daggers into Nathan's chest. What had his son gotten into this time?

"What the hell is going on here? Do you have any idea what time it is?" The eldest Scott demanded in tight fury when he got closer to Nathan and Peyton.

"Please, dad, not now," Nathan begged tiredly. His ankle was throbbing torturously, and his head was pounding from the alcohol. He couldn't endure the dark antagonism of his father in his current state.

"Why _not _now, Nathan?" Dan bit out dangerously. If the raging animal had been a little less dormant in Dan Scott, he would have lunged at Nathan, tackling him to the ground.

"Nathan's hurt, Mr. Scott," Peyton returned. It became obvious to the girl that Nate was not going to defend himself tonight—so, the duty fell into her hands. It's not that she minded; she'd do anything to keep Nathan safe. But as she glanced between father and son, some unnamable and unstable feeling crept into her stomach.

"Well done son," Dan fired at his son sarcastically. "How does it feel, Nathan, to be utterly useless? You're done for at least a few weeks." Dan Scott was seething, the anger rising every second longer he looked at his son.

"Dad," Nathan replied in mute retaliation, "lecture me all you want—just not _right _now." Nathan shook his head, silently pleading with his teary eyes for any sort of mercy from his father. Yes, Nathan knew he was in the wrong, and he'd be willing to take the heat for what he did. But he also knew that he was in total pain, and he couldn't take Dan Scott.

"Fine Nathan," Dan returned blandly. Sometimes, Dan's aloof responses killed Nate more than his screaming. No matter which way Dan said it though, Nathan was still in a hell of a lot of trouble; there'd be no way of him getting out of it this time. "Tomorrow, you're going to the trainer."

Nathan stared at his father blankly. Dan's response was oddly… mild, to Nathan. He would have expected a long and fiery monologue about how he was ruining his life, and not living up to his potential. Then, Dan would have stared at him darkly, telling him to suck it up and play through the injury—that he'd be worthless without his jersey on, and his feet planted firmly on the court.

Nate looked to Peyton, a mix of emotions making appearances on his features.

"It's okay, Nate, I'll get everyone out of here. You go on home and I'll see you tomorrow." Peyton took her fingers from her boyfriend's arm, and rubbed his shoulder affectionately. Nathan gave a smile in thanks, and then hobbled down the last stair. Peyton watched as Nathan had to limp his way painfully to the car, Dan not bothering to slow up or help his son. The image depressed Peyton beyond words, but she knew she could do nothing—that she had no place to do anything. Sighing, she turned and went back inside, preparing her voice for all of the yelling she'd have to do.

* * *

><p>Lucas shuffled his way home, not wanting to reach his front door. He knew his mother would be up waiting. Karen Roe was always so protective… and so proud of her son. Luke had rarely let her down, or made her question her trust in him; tonight though, she had every right to.<p>

Luke breathed heavily, trying to calm himself. He knew that he was still a good person: kind, and just, and fair, and true. So why did he feel so dirty, so terrible? He had gone against everything he believed in, for a reason he couldn't even make crystal clear. Yes Nathan did deserve to be put in his place, but not like this… not tripped by his jealous half-brother. Ten different forms of an apology went zigzagging through his thoughts, but Luke knew all too well that not a single word of them would ever be spoken. Luke had always considered himself a man; but now, he wasn't sure if he could even be regarded as a boy. He had always hated Dan for not facing and dealing with his mistakes, but now that all seemed hypocritical. Maybe Lucas really wasn't any better than Nathan or Dan.

Feeling the light and warming North Carolina breeze, Luke felt as if he didn't deserve the serene treat. The world still spun on and on, as if nothing had changed. But this particular Thursday night, Lucas Scott had lost himself—sold his soul to a devil he did not wish to serve. As the thoughts played taunting tricks on his self-esteem and courage, Lucas found himself standing in front of his house. He knew that when he walked through the familiar door, nothing would jump out and bite him… but then again, even the things people trust the most turn on them at some point.

Walking somberly up the couple little stairs, Lucas bit his lip, trying to come up with some long and epic apology he could feed to Karen. Opening the door as silently as possible, he spotted his mother sitting knowingly at the kitchen table. Her fingers were laced together and propped up on the light wood, and Lucas stared at his mother blankly. Her back was straight, mimicking the sturdy back of her chair. Karen's face was mild, not giving away any emotions that may be circulating throughout her body. Lucas kept his green eyes fixed on his mother, and pulled out the other chair by the table, taking a seat.

"It's one-thirty in the morning, Lucas," Karen stated. It was not simply a comment, not entirely the beginning of a lecture.

"I know, mom, and I'm sorry." Lucas put a genuine and toothless smile on his face, hoping to get some positive response from his mom. Although he certainly didn't deserve it, he needed it. Luke couldn't have his most faithful supporter turn on him—not now.

"Lucas, I get that you're a teenager; you're bound to do some… irrational things." Karen's kind brown eyes bore deep into her son. She leaned further in, her elbows now resting on the table as well. "But, you also know very well what is right and what is wrong. It's a school night, Lucas, and you're out doing god knows what, with god knows who." Karen shook her head.

"After the win tonight, the team had a little party," Lucas returned. It wasn't a lie, but he had censored it so heavily, that it might as well be. Luke ran a hand through his thick blonde hair.

"I know you want to fit in and be a part of the team," Karen said empathetically, "but don't do it at the risk of betraying who you are. You're a wonderful and responsible boy; you have such a bright future, my little Luke. I just don't want to see you lose it because of one night of trying to fit in. High school is only one little segment of your life; please don't try and make it the climax." Karen was gentle with her tone, but she hoped that her son still got the message.

"I know that, mom," Lucas replied quietly. "It's just hard sometimes to be good and responsible when there's so much crazy stuff going on around you. Being a Raven is more than just being on the team. There are these unspoken rules that apply to off-court circumstances, and I just—I don't want to let anyone down. I get enough heat as it is, being the 'other Scott'… I can't take it for being timid too."

"The 'other Scott'?" Karen echoed uneasily, "is that really how you feel?" Lucas replied with a neutral shrug. "Oh, Lucas, you don't deserve that. You're talented, and smart. Don't lose sight of that just because some group of boys is insecure about their own personalities." Karen supplied her son with a small smile. She wasn't about to tread in treacherous waters by delving into the topic of Dan and Nathan.

"Thank, mom," Lucas replied softly. Although the cheerleading from Karen was helping, he still didn't deserve it. "Well, um, I'm going to go to bed, okay? I still have school in the morning." Luke rose from his seat, walking past his mother and to his room.

* * *

><p>Nathan was in a very deep sleep when his father came pounding into his room, and pressing the button for his alarm to go off. Jostled out of a pleasant slumber, Nathan looked bleary eyed at the clock. It was five-thirty.<p>

"What the hell?" Nate groaned, falling onto his pillow once more.

"Up," Dan Scott commanded, "you're going to see the trainer." Dan crossed his arms.

"It's five-thirty," Nathan retorted insipidly, rubbing his hands over his tired face.

"Yes, Nathan, it is. I'm driving you to school, and you will go to the field house and see the trainer. We're leaving in half an hour, so you better get ready." Dan Scott turned on his heel, exiting his son's room. Once Dan was safely out of earshot, Nathan groaned. Between his hangover and his ankle, Nate was an absolute mess.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Kaplan," Nathan greeted the trainer as he limped into the office. The small dark haired man turned around, his brilliant hazel eyes still hazy from sleep. The man smiled at him, a set of pearly whites gleaming at Nathan.<p>

"Hi there, Nathan, what's up?" Kaplan began to look over Nathan's body, trying to pinpoint an issue. Seeing how the star basketball player couldn't put much weight on his right ankle, he motioned for Nathan to come and sit.

Nate obeyed, finding a comfortable position on the cushioned table. "Raise your right ankle please?" Kaplan said, his doctor voice coming into play. Nathan did as he was told.

Kaplan began pressing at different parts of Nathan's leg. Starting right below the knee, he asked if there was any pain. Nathan shook his head. Nodding, Kaplan continued the process until he got to the outside-front of Nate's leg right above his ankle.

"Yes," Nathan bit out in pain, tightly closing his eyes. Kaplan looked at the ankle in thought.

"Well, there's minimal swelling in the ankle, but seeing where you have pain, it may be a high ankle sprain." Kaplan looked to his patient sadly.

"You're sure?" Nathan held his breath. This seriously couldn't be happening to him.

"I could do the Squeeze Test and External Rotation Test," Kaplan thought out loud. Nathan nodded.

Kaplan conducted the tests, with the ultimate result of 'yes', Nathan probably did have a high ankle sprain.

"How bad is it, Kaplan?" Nathan asked uneasily. He felt as if he was going to die. Without basketball, what would he do? What would define him? He'd be forgotten soon enough, he feared.

"It could be worse," Kaplan returned with mild hope, "but I will have to wrap it. You'll have to wear a brace on it for a while; and I suggest you continue to wear it even when you're cleared to play again. During practices, come down here and you can do physical therapy." Seeing the crushed look on the boy's face, Kaplan sighed. "Nathan, you're going to be okay. We'll see how you are this time next week, and then we'll discuss playing time."

Nathan nodded shallowly in reply, gazing numbly as Kaplan went to the cupboard to get the wrapping material and brace.

Nate already missed the basketball court. The way his shoes would squeak as the person he defended changed directions, and he moved with him; he missed the beads of sweat that would drip down his face and get caught on his eyelashes as he went up for a shot; Nathan was already forgetting what it felt like to hit a three and hear the whole gymnasium erupt into chants and yells. The way his jersey felt so silky and perfect on his body was beginning to feel foreign to Nathan, and he felt his entire life deteriorate right before his eyes.

Nate didn't care if he was out for one week or three months—either way it was time of his life he could never spend playing basketball.

* * *

><p>Limping his way to his locker, Nathan was in no mood to face the day. He knew people would ask questions, and he'd have to supply some sort of answer. He'd get looks from every person he'd pass in the hallway, and he'd have to try and ignore them as best he could. Nathan <em>was<em> Tree Hill basketball; if he was injured, so was the whole team and the entire season.

Reaching the locker, he found Peyton Sawyer leaning up against it, arms crossed loosely. Pushing off of the metal when Nathan came closer to her, she traced her index finger up and down his forearm.

"What did the trainer say?" Peyton asked, lifting her eyes to Nathan's sad features.

"It's a high ankle sprain; I'm out for at least a week." Nathan tried to stay strong. As much as he appreciated Peyton's support, he didn't want to hear her hopeful words right now.

"God, I'm sorry, Nate. Take it easy, alright? You don't want to hurt yourself anymore," Peyton's voice was filled with emotions Nathan couldn't help but drown happily in. This girl cared for him in a way no one else ever had—and as he thought, she'd probably be the _only _one ever to.

Nate knew she was referring to freshman year when he had practiced his shot with a bum arm. He laughed slightly at how stubborn he was at playing, and how willful Peyton had been at preventing that (for his safety, of course).

"Alright, Sawyer," Nathan joked with as much humor as he could muster, "if you say so."

The couple stood in the hallway: perfect and happy. It was rare when Peyton felt herself this content with Nathan. As she smiled at him, the four words that Nathan had told her last night kept echoing in her thoughts. _I love you, Peyton_. She had to ask him about it. Certainly not in this moment, but very soon nonetheless. Nathan and Peyton had been dating for nearly two years—it was time they had this conversation.

* * *

><p>I am so sorry for the late update. School and the holidays have been killing me! So, I hope that the drama was sufficient, and that Luke wasn't too out of character (I'm really sorry if he was). As always, I am up for any ideas.<p>

_Please tell me your thoughts! _


	6. Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore'

_Narcissistic Cannibal _

_Six _

"_Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore'" _

Peyton Sawyer sat numbly in seventh period, everything and nothing running through her head. She was a paradox, wrapped in the suffocating illusion of sanity and solidity. Peyton's life seemed perfect: good grades, talented artist and cheerleader, beloved by her friends and family, dating the most beautiful boy in school… but as she thought about all the positives in her life, the negatives began their slow descent towards her. She'd enveloped herself in security and confidence; but now it all seemed to burn away. If she had to tell a reason for her sense of nothingness, she wouldn't be able to provide one; in fact, she had no real reason to feel so lost. But then again, did there need to be a justification for what she felt? Her heart told her no; you feel what you feel. Peyton's mind, though, begged to differ: she was being weak; childish.

Right now though, sitting at her oddly shiny (yet creepily dirty) desk, trapped in seventh period algebra class, Peyton couldn't care less if her feelings were acceptable or not. Cradling her forehead in her right palm, she was whirling. Her life was speeding by way too quickly for her liking, yet somehow it was torturously stagnant. Peyton wanted to cry, to laugh, to be free of the peculiar sensation that was currently plaguing her. She knew that it was no more than a wish—the sensation she felt was called life; there was no way she could shake it. Breathing in deeply, Peyton allowed the oxygen to swirl around in her mouth—maybe it could help calm her.

Peyton looked to her left, staring at Nathan who sat one row in front of her. He seemed to gleam with some sort of light, and his eyes glistened with a sense of purity Peyton could never define. Yes, Nathan Scott could be terribly bad when he wanted to be; he could also be undeniably sweet. The boy tore Peyton to shreds. She wanted to love all of him—every last ounce of his being. But could she really love the part of him that was cold? That was narcissistic? _Yes, _she whispered to herself, but she knew it was a lie. It was a lie that held a sort of truth, but not a strong enough amount for it to actually count. Why did Nathan have to make it so difficult for her to love him? Peyton wasn't about to change Nate to fit her exact liking, but the idea was still dangerously seductive. If Peyton had her way, Nathan would be unbeatable—physically and mentally. But what good was an indestructible guy? It's the weakness in people that make them human; Peyton couldn't bear to take that from Nathan.

"Alright, guys," Mr. Schrader told the class, turning from the whiteboard, "it's Friday; I can't teach anymore." The redhead gave a small chuckle before placing his Expo marker on his desk. The man's grassy green eyes danced with eagerness only young teachers could muster. Peyton shook her head, fighting the smile that was growing on her face.

She flipped her notebook closed, happy to not be burdened with notes any longer. Slipping the book into her backpack, she sensed a form approaching her. Tucking an unruly piece of her curly hair behind her ear, she lifted her organic green eyes to face the body in front of her. Nathan loomed over her, a ghost of a smile on his face.

Peyton zipped her black backpack, and sat upright, resting her green t-shirt covered back on the backrest of the chair. She could tell that Nathan was trying to put on a strong face for her. Basketball was over for Nathan for at least the game tomorrow, and god forbid, maybe even longer. Peyton couldn't blame Nathan for feeling melancholy. Smiling at him in return, she tried to act as if she noticed no difference in her boyfriend.

"Hey there, Superstar," Peyton said with a small little laugh. She crossed her arms, and watched as Nathan pulled the seat behind him closer to Peyton's desk. Once seated, Nate propped his elbows up on her desk.

"Hi there, Monet," he replied, carefully masking the depression that crashed over him when Peyton had called him 'Superstar'.

"Monet does landscapes," Peyton returned with a chuckle. Even though her style of artwork was much different from the majestic Claude Monet, she still applauded Nathan for his comparison.

"Well, an artist is an artist, right?" Nathan shrugged his shoulders lithely. "Have you ever considered doing landscapes?" Nate focused his striking blue eyes on Peyton, seeming to truly and honestly see her. Peyton was stunned by her boyfriend's comment. He rarely ever asked about her art.

"Oh, I don't know," she replied, trying to brush away the comment, "I like drawing people more." Peyton smiled like the Cheshire cat: mysterious and knowing, and all so alluring. Nathan returned her smile, and paired it with a small laugh.

"I can understand that," Nathan told her cryptically. Peyton stared at Nate, trying to figure out where his head was right now. If this is what Nathan Scott was without basketball, she quite liked it. But then again, Nathan without basketball was like a human with no air. Why was Nate so goddamn complicated?

"So, uh, ready for the game tomorrow?" Peyton was shocked at her own words. She rarely talked basketball with Nate unless he brought it up; their roles had completely reversed.

"I guess so," he replied blandly, "I'll be on the bench anyway." And that's when it hit her: basketball was Nathan's safety net; his safe haven. Of course she had kind of guessed that a while ago, but now Peyton knew it to be a fact. She began to tap her unpainted fingernails on the desk.

"Maybe it's for the best," she told Nate slowly. "It'll give people a chance to miss you playing out there. And when you come back," she went on, snaking her pointer finger towards Nathan's arm, "everyone'll go _crazy_." Peyton gave Nathan a playful grin.

"Yeah," he told her, attempting to mimic Peyton's smile, "guess you're right. Although, the scouts that come to the games I miss won't go _crazy_." Nathan was entirely bitter. His sapphire eyes were clouding into an unnerving black, and his lips became a thin straight line. Nathan Scott seemed tired; worn down by stresses no sixteen year old boy should face.

"Is that what's bothering you?" Nate supplied Peyton with a slight nod. "Aw, Nathan, come on—it's just one game you're missing." Peyton wrapped her fingers around his wrist sympathetically.

"Peyton, a scout from UNC is coming tomorrow." Nathan pulled his wrist from Peyton's grasp, and ran his hands though his hair, gripping it firmly as he went. Nate bowed his head, and shut his eyes tightly.

"University of North Carolina," Peyton whispered dreamily. "Nathan, I'm sure the scout will come to another game. I mean why wouldn't he? You're _Nathan Scott_."

"It wouldn't matter if I was Michael Jordan," Nathan muttered in return. "The guy has colleges all over the US he has to scout for players; I'm just one out of a couple thousand. I'll be forgotten before I even had a chance to get noticed." Now this was certainly not the Nathan that Peyton was used to. He was hopeless, with no faith in himself—what was wrong with Nathan Scott? Peyton never thought that she'd think this, but she missed the overconfident Nate; the one who believed in himself (granted, maybe sometimes too much).

"Nathan, don't think like that. And so what if the guy never sees you play? There are thousands of other colleges out there that are probably dying for you to join their basketball team. This is _one _school."

Nathan took his hands from his hair, and lifted his head so his eyes were even with Peyton's. "UNC is one hell of a school though. They've won three NCAA championships, Peyton… that's saying something."

"Yeah, well, Duke's won three too, Nathan," Peyton muttered in return. "You can win an NCAA championship at any college, okay? Don't go all melodramatic on me just because you might not win one as a Tar Heel."

Nathan stared in blank shock. "You know how many titles Duke has?"

"Don't look so surprised, Superstar; I do my research. But I'm serious, Nate; it's just one school."

"Maybe so, but I've wanted to go there since I was five. I want that Carolina blue, Peyton." Nathan shook his head, glancing at the clock: only two minutes left in class.

"Well, no offense, but I'm more of a Duke blue myself." Peyton winked at Nathan, before getting up from her seat and slinging her backpack over her shoulder. The bell sounded moments later.

"Oh, and after practice today, can you come over?" Peyton looked to Nathan expectantly.

"Yeah, okay," Nathan replied nonchalantly, picking up his backpack. Peyton nodded, and then walked out of the room, and towards eighth period.

* * *

><p><em>Ravens Practice—After School <em>

"Alright, I know you're all well aware that a scout from the University of North Carolina will be at our game tomorrow." Whitey paused, when a few of the players cheered. Whitey supplied the two with a warning stare, and then continued on. "I honestly do not care if he is in the stands. I want you boys to focus on the game: your opponents, the scoreboard, and the basket. Don't look to the bleachers for a blue shirt with a Tar Heels logo on it. We play as a team, gentlemen. I don't want anyone trying to be a hero, or attempting to stand out at the cost of their teammates or the outcome of the game. Play hard, play fair, but play together."

Many of the players looked towards each other, nodding, as a sense of pride grew in the locker room. Nathan watched his ecstatic teammates, and wanted to vomit. It wasn't fair; not the slightest bit. They'd all have a shot—have the UNC scout watching _them_. The man decked out in Carolina blue probably wouldn't even glance at the bench where Nathan would be helplessly sitting. It destroyed him.

"The bus leaves at one-thirty tomorrow, so get there no later than one, alright? We face the South Park Eagles; they won't be an easy team to beat. So sleep well tonight gentlemen, and be prepared for war tomorrow." Whitey walked out of the room, and all the players began to smile.

"I don't know about you guys, but I'm so ready for that Carolina blue!" Tim cheered, adding a whoop at the end of his sentence. Nathan wanted to beat his imbecile of a friend into the ground. Tim Smith would be on that court, his number twenty-five jersey drenched in sweat. Nate would be perfectly at rest on a wooden piece of junk, forced to watch as his teammates worked. It was bullshit.

"Shut up, Smith," Nathan groaned, rising from his seat. Storming out of the locker room as fast as his ankle would permit, he wanted to scream. Luke watched as Nathan exited the room, and felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. But no matter how strongly he felt, he still got to have the UNC scout check him out tomorrow. Lucas promised himself that he wouldn't disappoint.

"You ready to show that scout your three shot?" Jake asked, nudging Lucas' shoulder. Luke turned towards his friend, smirking.

"You bet, Jagielski," he returned, "I'm ready to shoot and score." He went through the motions of his shot, and laughed. Yeah, it was a cheesy reply, but Lucas didn't even care. Two autumns from now, he may be slipping on a Tar Heels jersey—the prospect was too amazing.

"I'm sure you are, hotshot," Jake laughed. "Just don't lose sight of the four other players on the court, okay?" Jake shook his head at Lucas, trying to figure the guy out. Although genuineness and kindness swirled happily in his green eyes, Jake felt an unnerving darkness rising in Lucas. Looking at the blond as he sat proudly upright on the bench, Jake Jagielski wasn't sure how much more stardom Luke's disposition could handle. He had been praised by Whitey and the team so much recently, it was hard to say how tightly bound Lucas Scott's morals were anymore. The idea of number three turning into his brother was completely unsettling to Jake.

"Jake," Lucas began matter-of-factly, "I'm not selfish. We're a team; we all deserve to be looked at." Although Luke said it, he knew a small part of him wanted all of the attention from the scout. This team was changing him faster than Lucas could repair himself…

* * *

><p><em>Peyton's House—After Practice <em>

Peyton lied on her bed, twirling her black pen in her hand. Radiohead was blasting loudly from her speakers, and she just barely heard the knock at her door. Yelling for the visitor to come in, she smiled nervously when Nathan stepped though the threshold. She just had to flat out ask him—there was no way she could sugarcoat this.

Sliding off of her bed, she turned off her stereo. Peyton turned from the large drawer that the stereo sat on, and took the moment to look at Nathan. He had such a kind face: knowing and gentle, with the softest peach skin that Peyton had ever ran her fingers over. His almost black hair stuck out wildly in all the right places, but was slick enough to give him the vibe of being utterly put together. Nathan's eyes had always been Peyton's favorite feature on him; they reminded her of the ocean. They were such a versatile blue, that one second they could be a stormy mist of ever-building angst, and then the next be as calm and clear as the beach on a sweet summer day. Taking her eyes from Nathan and crossing her arms, Peyton sat stiffly on her bed once more.

"Sit," Peyton told him, patting the spot next to her. She knew the moment of truth was coming undeniably close. Nathan followed his instructions, and joined Peyton on her deep purple covers.

"What's this about, Peyton?" Nathan tried not to sound annoyed, but there was so much going on with basketball that it was hard to feel anything but irked.

"At the party," Peyton began hesitantly, "you told me something…"

"I was drunk out of my mind, Peyton. Whatever stupid thing I said, I probably didn't mean." Nathan began to eye her room, staring at all the sketches taped up on her walls.

Peyton had never been one to speak readily about feelings, but her drawings simply spilled emotions. They dripped from the harsh solid black lines she drew when outlining her figures; they sank into the pores of the viewers from the light gray shading Peyton used for shadows. The girl's work was all-telling if the gazer would just simply look: look past the immediate image in front of them, look beyond the words that were penned artistically in the picture. Nathan sighed sadly. He knew Peyton Sawyer very well—maybe even sometimes better than he knew himself; but he had never voiced these observations to Peyton.

"You told me you loved me, Nathan," Peyton returned. She tried not to sound insulted, but knew that she failed. Saying he loved her wasn't stupid—it hurt her that that was the instant disclaimer that he used. Looking to Nathan, he was frozen, looking at everything but her. "Did you—did you mean it?" Peyton probed softly, waiting for any sort of response.

Nate sighed. "Oh god, Peyton, I—I don't know." His heart was racing. Of course he had meant it. Nathan had been in love with Peyton for some time now. He just wasn't sure he could voice it aloud.

"You don't know?" Peyton bit out. "It's a simple question." Peyton crossed her arms.

"Peyt, do we need to talk about this _right _now?" Nathan began to massage his temples. He couldn't do this. He'd never been good with showing his love for people—he was even worse with voicing it. Nate knew that Peyton wanted him to say it; he wanted to say it too. But there was a wall, keeping him from doing so.

"Nathan," she replied exasperated, "we've been dating for almost two years. _Two_. This is something we need to talk about. So could you please just answer the goddamn question?" Peyton was desperate. She began to twist her pen frantically in her hands, feeling them start to shake. She was too invested in Nathan and their relationship…

"I can't, Peyton, okay? I can't. I'm not good with saying things like this." Nathan stiffened even more on the bed; he could feel Peyton's eyes glaring daggers into him—namely, aiming for his heart. Peyton didn't deserve this… but he wasn't strong enough to say those three simple words; they just wouldn't come out of his mouth.

"If you can't even say you love me after two years, then maybe we shouldn't be together." Peyton's voice was cold. It chilled Nathan to the core, but he knew he couldn't expect anything other than this reaction. He momentarily considered just blurting out the words, but they wouldn't mean anything to her now, and Nathan knew this.

"Maybe," Nathan replied wispily. He shouldn't do this. He should man up, and tell her that he loved her. But he didn't. Instead, Nathan got up shakily from the bed. "I'm sorry," he told her, barely meeting her stormy eyes.

"Just leave," she whispered. Peyton could feel the tears forming in her eyes, and she watched numbly as Nathan exited her room, shutting the door lightly behind him. Biting her lip, she felt the ticklish tears streaming down her cheeks.

Peyton Sawyer had never been one to cry.

He was gone. She had let him walk right out of the door, without so much as a fight. Peyton knew Nathan loved her; deep down, she knew it to be true. _But he couldn't say it_. Peyton was no better with feelings than Nathan, yet she had been ready and willing to admit her love for him. Did that make her weak? It was a question she had been throwing around a lot lately, but somehow it was a question she could never find an answer to. She wanted to follow him—take him back. But did Nathan really deserve to be forgiven this time?

Rubbing her face to erase the tears from her eyes, Peyton reached for the phone sitting on her nightstand. Peyton dialed Brooke Davis' number, and collapsed onto the bed, as the phone began to ring.

"Hi there, P. Sawyer!" Brooke's chipper voice only killed Peyton further.

"I broke up with him," she whispered into the receiver. Lowering her head, she tried to fight off the tears.

"What? Pety Pie, why?" Brooke's blitheness was gone, replaced now with worry.

"You know how I told you he said he loved me at the party? Well I asked him today, and he said he couldn't do it. Two years, Brooke, and he couldn't say he loved me." Peyton dare not say his name. If she did, she may actually shatter. It was hard to come to terms with the fact that Nathan was now a love of the past.

"Then he's not worth it, Peyton," Brooke returned empathetically. She herself had gone through one too many relationships where the guy couldn't commit; she knew exactly how Peyton felt.

"I—I guess," Peyton told her best friend weakly. Rubbing her eyes with her thumb and pointer finger, Peyton wished she had never asked Nathan if he loved her. Then again, she was glad to finally know the truth.

"Just look on the bright side."

"What bright side?" Peyton replied dryly.

"You get to have a rebound now, Peyton! You know: meaningless sex. You get to _explore_; have a loose and flirtatious fling with a guy. P. Sawyer, you're a free girl! You're back on the market, baby!" Peyton could feel Brooke's intense grin through the phone. Breathing in heavily, there was something she had to get off of her chest.

"Brooke," she began softly, "I can't do that."

"Oh, come on! It's just a rebound fling! They're fun." Brooke giggled slightly, attempting to lighten the mood.

"I can't do that, because I'm two weeks late." Peyton felt an odd buzz take over her body, and she felt sick to her stomach. She had really just said that out loud. As the words hung in the air, they seemed undeniably true now; there was no way Peyton could hide from it anymore.

"What?" Brooke was breathless.

"My period is two weeks late, Brooke," Peyton whimpered. "And now, I don't know what I'm going to do. Nathan can't even say he loves me. If I really am—am pregnant, how am I supposed to count on Nathan? Oh god, I don't know what I'm doing." Peyton sat upright, her head completely discombobulated.

"Peyton, honey, slow down. You're two weeks late." Brooke paused, thinking. "Have you taken a, um, test yet?"

"No. I thought it was nothing. But I've been off lately, and I just—"

"Expect the worst?" Brooke offered, quietly. Peyton nodded, the salty tears now falling uncontrollably. That's why she had cared so deeply about Nathan's reply to her question of if he loved her. Now, she felt all alone; and she certainly didn't want to become Karen Roe… because that left Nathan turning into Dan Scott. Peyton could barely even imagine that.

"Yeah," Peyton finally mumbled. "What if I am pregnant, Brooke? What do I do?" Peyton pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'm not ready to have a baby; I'm a junior in high school! And Nathan—oh god." More tears began to fall.

"Well before you start freaking out, you need to take a test." Brooke breathed in deeply, "I'll come and pick you up, and we'll go buy one." Peyton wilted at Brooke's confidence.

"Not tonight, Brooke. I can't deal with the result right now." Peyton's voice was hollow; barely even a ghost.

"Well then when do you want to go? Tomorrow we have an away game…" Brooke knew that the last thing Peyton wanted to be reminded of was the game tomorrow.

"I know," Peyton returned sadly. "What about Sunday?" She wasn't sure she could handle the game tomorrow. Cheering, smiling, facing Nathan—it all seemed to be too much.

"Sunday," Brooke agreed. "And don't worry, Peyt. Everything will be okay. I promise." Peyton knew her friend's words were only meant to comfort her, but they still helped.

"Thanks, Brooke. I'll um, see you tomorrow, okay?" Peyton didn't wait for Brooke to respond, before shutting her phone and tossing it across the room. This couldn't be happening to her.

* * *

><p>Nathan reached his house, utterly dead. Basketball was gone; Peyton was gone. What was Nathan left with? <em>Nothing<em>. Shutting the front door weakly, he limped his way into the living room, praying Dan wasn't there.

Reaching an empty room, Nathan gave a sigh of relief: at least one thing had gone his way today. Sitting down on the couch heavily, he stared out the window blankly. It was a sunny and bright blue skied day—so unfitting for the current state of Nathan Scott. Numbly breathing in and out, his mind wandered to Peyton. He regretted losing her, more than he did basketball. Did he really just admit that?

Feeling his phone buzz in his pocket, his heart rate quickened. Maybe it was Peyton.

"Hello?" Nathan answered hopefully.

"Nathan," a sweet voice smothered in stoniness returned. Nathan stiffened at the sound.

"Mom," Nate replied vacantly. It had been over a week since he had last spoken to his mother; what brought her to call? "When are you coming home?" He needed his mother right now—he didn't care how frantic he sounded.

"Oh, Nate," Deb Scott said, "soon; I promise. I heard about your ankle: how're you holding up?" Nathan could sense a small ounce of worry in his mother's voice.

"Alright, I guess," Nathan replied. He didn't really want to get into details over the phone. "When is soon, mom?"

"My plane leaves tonight," Deb told her son. She wasn't necessarily pleased about it, and Nathan could sense that. He didn't know why his mother hated Tree Hill so much. Was it Dan? Was it the small town? Was it _him_?

"So you'll be able to come to my game tomorrow?" He felt like a little boy again. Only this time, his mother wouldn't be cheering him on as he pranced around the court—she'd watch her son sit on the bench; a brace tightly around his ankle.

"If that's what you want, then I'll be there."

"Thanks, mom," Nathan returned. He knew that was the best he was going to get from Deb, and he'd have to settle for it. Sighing, he heard footsteps coming towards the living room. "Well, I have to go. I'll see you tonight." Nathan closed his phone, and turned to find his dad entering the room.

"Who was that?" Dan asked emotionless. He walked over to his son, hovering over the couch from behind.

"Mom. She said her plane was leaving tonight." Nathan looked at his father's face. It was utter stone: cold, motionless, and unforgiving.

"Good," Dan returned blandly. "Nathan, since basketball is shot for at least a few weeks, maybe you should start looking at your grades. The only reason why you haven't completely flunked is because of basketball." Nathan knew that Dan was off because of Deb's return, but did he have to be as harsh as to bring up Nathan's grades? The boy had to agree that his current academics were not his best, but did Dan have to pound it on him all of a sudden?

"Fine," Nathan replied vacantly, and started to slide off of the couch. He was in no mood to fight with Dan. As crazy as it sounded, he didn't want to lose his father today too.

"On Monday, ask about tutoring." Dan's word was final, and Nathan knew he had no right to disagree. Nodding, Nate limped up to his room. He had nothing to feel proud about; nowhere and no one to turn to. Nathan Scott was all alone, and it was his fault.

* * *

><p><em>Karen's Café<em>

Haley James ran the damp white rag over the counter, watching as the ivory material became a disgusting gray. Gliding figure eights over the wooden surface, she laughed to herself slightly. If only she had music to blast; she'd move the rag to the beat of the song. Running her left hand through her hair, she lifted her eyes when she heard the bell above the door ding. She had flipped the sign to 'closed' over twenty minutes ago, so it must be Lucas.

Smiling when she saw the blond walk through the door, Haley let the rag fall limply onto the countertop, and she walked from behind it.

"Hey Luke," Haley greeted her friend warmly, walking closer to him for a hug. Lucas accepted her into his arms, but he seemed to resist her slightly. Haley noticed it—but she wasn't about to bring it to his attention. "How was practice?" Breaking from Lucas, Haley walked back to her rag, avoiding the bar stools as she continued to wipe down.

"There's a scout from the University of North Carolina coming to the game tomorrow." Luke didn't say it with his usual nervousness or shyness; he seemed uncharacteristically confident. Haley couldn't help but give an amused smile to herself at that.

"Oh really? Well that should be a good experience, right?" Haley dropped the rag again, turning to face Lucas.

"Definitely," Luke replied, a shadow of a smirk spreading over his lips. Haley ignored the face, rather listening to his words. He sounded like Lucas, looked like Lucas, but he wasn't Lucas. He was some carbon copy that had horribly malfunctioned in the personality area.

"Well good luck," Haley returned with a smile. "Hey, um, I had a question for you…" Haley bit her lip, trying to think of how she would phrase this.

"Shoot," Luke said nonchalantly, walking over to one of the stools, sitting down. He looked to Haley intently. She looked too cute in her bright blue shirt that hugged her curves and lifted from her stomach slightly as she ran a hand through her hair. If Haley really wanted to be, she could be quite a pistol. Luke had always thought her to be pretty, but now she was sensual—Luke tried with all his might not to ravish her.

"So, you know how the dance is coming up?" Haley watched as Lucas nodded. "Well, I was wondering if we were still planning to go together."

"What?" Luke rubbed the back of his head. He vaguely remembered talking to Haley about the dance, but the conversation must have slipped his mind.

"We uh, we had said that if neither of us had dates, we'd go together. Is that still the plan?" Haley always felt herself having to be the coordinator. No matter how responsible or mature Lucas was, he was terrible with keeping dates and events straight. If it were up to him to run his life, he'd be in utter disarray.

"Oh," Lucas whispered, "aw, Hales, I'm sorry." He brushed a hand over his eyebrow, lifting his eyes meekly to Haley. "I'm kind of going with Brooke." It felt odd having to deny Haley; he had done that maybe ten times maximum in his life. But Brooke was something else. Wild, feisty, daring… everything that Lucas wasn't. She gave Luke the fire he had been craving all his life, and the longer he was with her, the stronger the flame became. There was no denying that Brooke Davis and Lucas Scott fit together like ammonium and nitrate—they were explosive together.

"Brooke Davis?" Haley bit out tightly, "since when did you guys become… _involved_?" Haley didn't even try to hide her jealousy. She wanted Lucas to see how he hurt her. Brooke and Haley had been at odds since the third grade, when they were paired together for a project and Brooke called her a 'crayon stealing butt face' for using the red crayon when Brooke had wanted to use it to color in the shoes in her drawing.

"We've been talking Hales, and I really like her." Luke couldn't keep that fact from Haley.

"Don't call me 'Hales'," Haley returned darkly, turning around to begin wiping the countertop once more. Her fingers wrapped around the now drying rag tightly, and she felt as if she was about to cry. How could Lucas abandon her? And for Brooke Davis, no less?

"Haley, look: I'm sorry okay? But I'm not going to forget her just because you two have never seen eye to eye. Can't you just back me on this?"

"Back you? My god, Luke! That's all I've ever done!" Haley's voice was infuriated. "Since we were little, I've been there for you. Basketball, crises, school, everything. Have you been to any of my History Smackdown competitions? Not a single one, Luke. Or what about my piano recitals when we were younger? None." Haley sighed, flattening her hand over the dark gray rag. "How can you say I haven't been there, haven't 'backed you'?" Haley looked at Lucas sadly. It finally hit her that maybe she and Luke were not as close as she had always thought. The thought depressed her greatly, but it all seemed to make sense now.

"Haley," Lucas returned softly, "I never meant to hurt you." He crossed his arms self consciously, all of his vain pride fading. Now all Luke felt was embarrassed.

"You still did though," Haley whispered. She never liked when she and Luke fought, but this was one battle that needed to be drawn out. Lucas needed to see Haley's side, and Haley needed to find the strength within herself to accept Lucas' feelings for Brooke.

"I know. I'm sorry that you felt I was never there for you. If you really want, I'll stay home with you on the night of the dance and we can have a _Die Hard_ marathon." Luke gave her a smile, but Haley knew that it was a sad one.

"As much as I'd like for you to spend the night with me and Bruce, you have the chance to go to the dance with a girl you like; I shouldn't keep you from doing that." Haley could never stay mad at Luke for long—if she did or tried to, she went crazy. Haley supplied her best friend with a smile. "Have a good time for the both of us, alright? But be safe," she taunted, leaning in closer to Luke. He laughed and shook his head in reply. Rising from his seat, he wrapped his arms around Haley, bringing her tightly into his chest. She sank into the hug happily, leaning her head on top of his heart. The rhythm thudded mesmerizingly in her ear.

"Thank you, Hales," Luke whispered, kissing the top of her head. She smelled like oranges and mint. Lucas smirked into Haley's hair; she had been using the same shampoo for at least four years, and the scent still got him every time. It fit Haley perfectly. She was tangy and zesty like the orange, but sophisticated and well-liked; quite akin to mint.

"You're welcome," she muttered contently in reply, letting more of the weight of her head rest on Luke's chest.

* * *

><p><em>Note<em>: The NCAA championships that Duke and UNC have in this chapter are as of 2003 (since that's when the story takes place)—I just don't want anyone getting angry with me since the stats are not up to date.

So I wanted to make this chapter much longer; like ten thousand words or more. But, I felt I'd end here. So tension is rising, and I hope you all enjoyed the drama. As everyone has been saying, what is Tree Hill without drama? I got only one review for the last chapter—I'd really love for more input. I want to better my writing and this story, and that's what reviews do (plus they keep me confident in my stories; and confidence compels me to update).

_Please tell me your thoughts! _


	7. I'm No Knight in Shining Armor

_Narcissistic Cannibal _

_Seven _

'_I'm No Knight in Shining Armor, but I'm No Pair of Dancing Shoes'_

If there was one thing Nathan had never expected to happen, it was this: a Saturday that would usually hold the excitement of a basketball game, totally obliterated—replaced by an eerie void that would not dull any of his pain. The alarm clock displayed red numbers somewhere around eleven, but he didn't really care about the time. Bound to his bed by the weightiness of absolutely no enthusiasm, Nathan stared at his ceiling, dreading the coming events of the day. If only he hadn't hurt his damn ankle… then all of his problems would be solved. Clenching his eyes shut, he couldn't think about the 'what ifs'. The unchangeable truth was that he was indeed hurt, and would not play in one of the biggest rivalry games of the year.

Brushing his hand over his dark hair, Nathan began to reminisce about facing the South Park Eagles as a child. Bartok Ramses had been (and still was) the shooting guard for the Eagles. The kid was a fast little demon, with a jump shot that could kill. Even in his oversized blue Eagles t-shirt, Bartok had had a knack for intimidating everyone around him. Laughing to himself at the determined little boy, Nathan was sure all of the referees had gotten to know Bartok on a first name basis. The Ramses boy always found himself in foul trouble by at least the end of the second quarter. Nathan usually taunted and tempted the opposing kid once he got to this point, just daring him to foul him. Most times, Nathan got his wish, and Bartok had to sit out the fourth quarter for surpassing five fouls. The quiet power Nate had had over the little Eagle could not be denied, and the majestic twenty-three could not have wanted it any other way.

Now, sometimes, he thought that was part of the reason for his controlling ways and power-lust. Nathan would never admit it aloud, but he was insecure about his dominating demeanor. He often wondered if that was what drove everyone he loved away...

Shaking the demising thoughts out of his head, Nathan returned to Bartok Ramses. Although he and Bartok had such different playing styles and tactics (even to this day), they were very similar. Both driven by determination, desire, and love for the game, they'd be willing to sacrifice anything in the name of basketball. Whether it was busting up a new pair of basketball shoes, or breaking the skin on their faces trying to win a rebound, Nathan and Bartok were there.

Nate wouldn't be on the court today, though.

Sighing, Nathan brought himself back to reality. He was never one to linger in the 'glory days', because honestly, he was living those moments of his life now. But as of recent, Nate found himself spending more time in the past, and less, thriving in the present as he usually did. It seemed to be too quick of a downfall for him. Nathan had been out not even a week, but he'd already lost his position of shooting guard to Lucas, had driven Peyton away by his own stupidity, and was swiftly finding himself out of Dan's good graces.

Was basketball all Nathan had to offer to the world? Well, it was all he ever showed. Turning his head to look out the window, the blue sky smiled kindly in return. Breathing in, he figured sadly that no one really knew him. They didn't know he was passionate about history, or that he was an Edgar Allen Poe and William Shakespeare junkie, or that his favorite singer was James Taylor. Basketball, popularity, and parties were all that people thought of when the name Nathan Scott was brought up.

He wished he could break that affiliation, and display to the world what he really was under all of the petty perks of high school. Nathan wanted to talk art, or debate causes of World War I. But if he gave into those desires, what would that make him? With basketball, he knew what to expect. He was Nathan Scott; more importantly, number twenty-three for the Tree Hill Ravens. He was a jock, decked out in school gear, promoting TH proudly on his chest. He dated and ran around with cheerleaders, and was praised for his naughty tricks in the bedroom. But was that what he wanted to be? Is that what Peyton really wanted him to be? _No_. There was no way to easily change it, though.

"Nathan," his mother's voice rang harmoniously from the bottom of the stairs, "it's eleven-thirty. You may want to get up and get ready soon; you don't want to be late." Nathan could just picture Deb's sleek and perfectly tailored black suit forming to her body, and her feet firmly in high heels that made her posture that much straighter. Her style of dress told more about her than her deceivingly sweet face. Deborah Scott was a business woman above all else; it did not matter if she was at the office or at home.

"Alright," Nathan called down in return. He couldn't even tack a simple 'mom' to the end of his sentence. She didn't deserve the name. A mother nurtures her child; protects them from harm, while loving and supporting them. Deb had scarcely been there as he had grown up, and had done one messy job at keeping him from Dan's wrath. Nathan didn't even believe his mother knew him well enough to justifiably love or support him. Deborah had just returned home last night, and Nate could hardly wait for her to leave again. He was sure his prayer would be answered soon enough.

Sliding off of his bed, Nate made his way to his nightstand, picking up his phone from the wooden piece of furniture. Cradling the object in his hand, he wanted so badly to dial Peyton's number. He hadn't realized just how much he needed her, until she was gone. Biting his lip, Nate decided to take a leap of faith and pressed speed dial two. His hand wrapped around the silver piece of technology tightly as he listened to the rings.

After about a minute, Nathan was sure it would go to voice mail; not that he could blame Peyton for avoiding him. But to his surprise, the ringing stopped, and no mechanical voice began to speak.

"What do you want, Nathan," Peyton answered dryly. Truth be told, she was ecstatic to have him call her.

"I don't know, Peyton," he replied weakly, "to talk I guess." He waited for her to come back with some snarky response, but she stayed silent. Nathan continued. "Look, I know I was awful to you. Not just last night, but all of those other times I did some dumb thing to you. You deserve better, Peyton, and I want to try and show you that I can be that better guy. Tell me that it's okay, Peyt; that you'll forgive me. You told me once that you believed in second chances…" he was uneasy about exposing this much to her, but the last time, he had kept back too much. Nate was willing to show her his softer side; she deserved that much.

"I do believe that, but your second chance happened a while ago. I don't go for thirty-fifth chances. Even if I did, you're well beyond that too." Peyton pinched the bridge of her nose. Of course she wanted to take him back, but she wouldn't—not this easily at least. "Telling me you're sorry now doesn't cut it. Promises don't mean anything coming from you, they haven't in a while. Nathan, you were right saying I deserve better. But you can't be that guy, Nate. It's just not who you are." Peyton wanted to scream when she said that. Nathan certainly _could_ be that better man; he could do a hell of a job. She knew Nathan was so much more, and she wanted to experience and love that. But fear kept her from diving into his arms once more. Would he really change?

"It can be me. If you're mad because I couldn't say I love you, I'm sorry. Truth is, I—I do love… you, Peyton. I really do." Nathan felt his heart shattering into pieces he'd never be able to put back together. She hated him; he didn't know if he could live with that. It felt good to admit the truth, though. Whether she was his biggest fan or not, Peyton now knew how he felt. That's all he could ask for.

"Saying it over the phone _now_, doesn't count. I gave you a shot last night to be good; to be genuine. You blew it, Nate, okay? I get that you're not big on the whole showing emotions thing, but neither am I. I was willing to say that I loved you, but I wanted to hear _you_ say it."

"I just did though, Peyt…"

"It's not enough this time to just say something this important while you're hidden behind your phone. The best you can give me is a hesitant 'I love you', not even able to say it to my face? That's not even as romantic as _Terminator_." Peyton's voice was dead. He knew it was because of him that she was like this. Nathan had eaten her alive, and left nothing but scraps and shards of bone for her to put back together. He had sucked Peyton dry of everything that he loved about her.

"Peyton," he pleaded.

"No. I can't—I can't do this Nathan." He heard the phone click, and she was gone; just like that. Throwing his phone onto his bed, he kicked himself mentally for allowing her to slip from his grasp for the second time in less than twenty-four hours.

* * *

><p>"Finally decided to get your lazy ass up," Dan commented sarcastically when Nathan entered into the living room. He wasn't hungry for lunch, and he didn't need the energy anyways. No matter what he did, Nathan still couldn't believe he couldn't be a star today, excelling in his favorite part of life. He watched as Dan stared at the jersey he was wearing; today though, it was with lackluster instead of pride.<p>

"Yeah, I did," Nathan returned. He'd usually fight his dad on being so harsh, but Nate found himself _needing_ his father's support. If he thought about it, Dan was the only true parent he had known—and that was certainly saying something. Yes he was overbearing and saw Nathan sometimes as a potential check instead of a human being, but he was _there_. "So are you coming to the game?" Nathan had really just asked that… he was so desperate.

Dan only supplied him with a look of death. "Tree Hill better keep their undefeated record." Nate knew that Dan meant that if the Ravens win, it will be no thanks to him, and if they were to lose, it would all be his fault. Nathan resisted the urge to leap at his father. Dan Scott definitely knew how to drive him into the dirt.

"They will," Nate returned. He hoped to god that the team could pull it off: for the sake of states, Whitey, their own integrity, and his own ass.

"With Lucas at shooting guard?" Dan's tone was that of an unforgiving harshness. He seemed almost amused at the prospect of his eldest son failing on the battle grounds of the Eagle's court.

"I don't know. I mean, he can hit the three…" Nathan shrugged. Yeah, that spot should be his, and yes, he still had no liking for his half brother, but Nathan somehow found it within himself to have a touch of faith in Lucas.

"He's getting to you, Nathan," Dan bit out. "He's messing with your mind. Keep your eyes on the prize, and make sure Lucas doesn't steal what you've worked all your life for." Somehow, Dan helped calm Nate. It was a strange sensation, but he kind of liked it.

"He won't even make it through the season," Nate told his father, his voice winding of tendrils of threats and coldness. And just like that, Dan Scott had revived the Nathan _he_ had raised; forcing the softer side back into its tiny cell.

"Boys," Deb said as she entered the living room, "we should go. It's twelve-thirty, and I don't think Nathan wants to be late for the bus." Nate nodded slightly, looking to the floor as he got up from his seat. Seeing the black brace tightly around his ankle, almost made him melt into the Persian rug he stood on. He needed out of the thing, so he could regain his life from Lucas. And he would… whatever it took.

* * *

><p>Entering the locker room, it was entirely vacant save for one player: Lucas. Nate smirked in tainted delight, and he slithered his way over to his locker. Walking past Luke as he went, Nate shoved his older brother into the locker he had just closed. Luke hit the blue painted metal with a crisp thud, and it was a symphony to Nathan's ears.<p>

"What the hell was that for," Lucas demanded harshly, turning his head sharply to face his brother. Nate's blue eyes danced with a conceited mischief, and his lips taunted with a knowing smirk. Nate had such delicate features, but they went unnoticed, drowned in the narcissistic coldness Dan had repeatedly poured over him throughout his life.

"It's just a little nudge, fragile little Roe." Nathan took great pleasure in angering Lucas. It soothed his paranoid thoughts about no longer having his power.

"You really are a jackass," Luke shot back, hoping to spur some sort of self conscious reaction from Nathan.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me…?" Nate had been called a jackass so often; it didn't even faze him now.

"I'm surprised you still have a heart that even beats," Lucas commented plainly. Maybe Nate responded when there was no emotion at all. He liked the attention; that's what kept him going. If Lucas didn't give him that, then maybe Nathan would actually react.

"Ooo," Nathan returned in fake hurt, "you really know how to hurt a guy." His features didn't match his words though. They were free, snide, and still got to Lucas. Why was it so hard for the elder Scott to break down his brother? Based on the way he was brought up, Nate should be fragile when it comes to emotions, and delicate about what people thought of him. Alas, it was Luke who always ended up angry.

"You're impossible," Luke muttered, holding up his metaphorical white flag. Again, he had lost to Nate.

"Tell me something, Roe," Nate began tightly, "why are you here? Because I distinctly remember telling you three cardinal rules to never break." He began to put his gym bag in his locker, taking out his uniform he had left in the school overnight.

"Guess I didn't have a pen," Luke returned coolly. He could see Nathan's jaw twitch and tighten at his words. Maybe he was finally getting to his brother.

"Well allow me to refresh your memory. Never join my team, take my life, or steal my girl. You've got two strikes, man. You're walking on some _really _thin ice."

"And what are you gonna do, Nathan, huh? Drown me in threats? Or no! Stab me with snide remarks. Yeah, that's what you'll do." Luke laughed to himself. "Nathan, you're never going to do anything. You're all talk. I have joined the team, I am playing, and I'll be in your… well now my, position. It is what it is. Deal." Lucas gave Nathan a smirk, and then turned back to his locker, removing his blue shirt.

"I will show you just how much you're going to regret saying that when I crack your shin in half." Nathan had never considered himself a physically abusive person. Emotionally, maybe so—but he rarely used his fist unless it was during a game. But with Lucas, it was so hard to get to him emotionally. A part of Nate didn't want to hurt him. Bones can break and hurt, but they heal. Emotions though, they can be scarred and damaged for life. Something kept Nathan from being a reason for Lucas' scars.

"Brutal," Luke replied sarcastically, "I'd like to see you try."

Other players began to flood into the locker room, and Nathan soon forgot about his bickering episode with Lucas. A small little segment of Luke was actually disappointed that his brother had so quickly forgotten his existence once his friends came. Nathan had friends; and a full family to fill the stereotypical family photos that were probably cluttered all throughout his house. Nate had confidence that no one could deny, and he was actually praised for it. What did Lucas have? A devoted mother who loved him more than herself, and an uncle he sometimes imagined to be his father. That counted as a complete family, didn't it? He hoped so, because if not, he'd been deceiving himself all his life. Breathing in, he still felt incomplete. Lucas wanted more than a crumbled atypical home life. Was it too much to ask for the basics? He shouldn't want the normal—he had people that loved him.

Closing his locker, and dressed in his black Ravens uniform, Luke felt pleased in his dream world. In his mind, he belonged with the Tree Hill Ravens, and felt pride in sporting the number three on his back. It was a lovely illusion, and he hoped it wouldn't end.

"Daydreaming is just going to get you killed on this team," Jake told him softly, closing his locker as well. Luke jumped at the voice next to him, meeting Jake's eyes in shock. The kid had a real knack for randomly appearing when Lucas found himself most lost.

"Maybe that's my elaborate plan for committing suicide. It'll be an original way, huh?" Luke laughed, smiling brightly at Jake. The talk with Nathan had put Lucas' actions in perspective. He was just as cocky and proud as Nathan—the one person he had vowed never to be like. Tapping his hand on his locker, Luke promised himself that he would never let the exhilaration of being on varsity get to him again.

"Well that's a pleasant thought to have," Jake returned sarcastically. "But hey, you might actually get your wish today." Jake shrugged his shoulders, slipping on a jacket. It was an uncharacteristically chilly October day, and a perfect set up for the storm brewing between the Ravens and Eagles.

"Why do you say that?" Luke gave a look of confusion. He had never paid much attention to the basketball team in freshman or sophomore year—he had never seen the point. But now, he was paying for it. Luke didn't know who they were supposed to hate and be rivals with, or what teams were always a joke to play. All he did know was the game, and the basic instincts on the court to make up for his lack of knowledge of the plays.

"South Park's our biggest rival," Jake said in all seriousness. "It's always hell playing them, but now we don't have the twisted angel to save us from Lucifer."

"Who are the twisted angel and Lucifer?" The analogy was completely lost to Luke.

"Nathan's the angel. Since he's on our side, he can't be a devil… pity, huh? And Lucifer is Bartok Ramses: the biggest and baddest guy in the state." It was interesting to Lucas how Jake could be so into this rivalry, when he usually ranted about the stupid dedication the players had to the team.

"Don't you think that's a little overdramatic?" Luke tilted his head to the side. Whitey still hadn't come into the locker room to usher the team to the buses; he hoped everything was alright.

"I wish, Luke. But seriously, I put it lightly for you. Just know: Bartok's one physical bastard out there. I'd watch your back."

"Yeah, okay, will do." Luke crossed his arms. "Hey, where's Whitey? It's almost one-thirty."

Jake looked around the locker room, not seeming to notice the absence of their coach before Luke had pointed it out. "Oh, uh, I don't know. He's usually right on time."

Nathan looked at Jake and Lucas, envy silently creeping into his veins. The one thing he had always longed for was a friend to confide in; not to just talk sports, parties, and girls. The closest thing he had had to that was Peyton, but now she couldn't even talk to him for more than ten minutes. Nathan Scott didn't even have his parents to vent to. Sighing, Nathan felt lost—more than he had in a long time. What was the point of having a family and sharing their last name, if he couldn't even connect to them? _There was no point_. It had to be a lie. Dan and Deborah loved Nathan; they'd love him no matter what… that's what family does. But would they really? His mother wasn't there enough to have a say, and his father was temperamental with his devotion to Nathan. He hated the emotional webs he wrapped around himself.

"Dude," he could hear Tim say behind him. Tim's voice seemed distant, though. Turning around to face his friend, Nate looked to him blandly.

"What," he drawled, in the same aloofness Dan had taught him so well over the years. It had become second nature to be outrageously proud and cold. _Thanks, dad. _

"Where's Whitey, man? We're gonna be late." Tim leaned his shoulder against the locker next to Nate's, waiting for an answer. It was common knowledge that Nathan Scott ran the team… and somehow that translated into him knowing all the answers, too.

"Oh, cry me a river, will ya? I don't know where the bullfrog is. Just chill, okay?" Nathan felt himself becoming stone. Everything was wrong it seemed. Did he really deserve this much karma?

"What's got your ass so tight today, Scott?" Even Tim could see through Nate.

"It has something to do with a black material wrapped around my ankle," he replied blandly. His injury had become his excuse. Dan had always told him never to hide behind an injury. But here was Nathan, in his silent defiance against his father.

"No one's stopping you from playing. Dude, just say it feels better. We need your jump shot for this game."

"Yeah, well, Whitey won't let me even touch the court. I'm screwed for this one, man." Nathan shook his head.

"When had that stopped you? Just warm up, and not let the pain show. Whitey can't deny you your spot." Tim made it sound so easy; and normally Nathan would agree. But today, inhibitions consumed him.

"The guy's a Nazi, Tim. No way in hell will I be playing."

"I'm Polish, Scott," Whitey said from behind the two boys. Tim and Nathan tightened their muscles, saying nothing in reply. Their coach walked past them with a warning look, and stopped when he got to the front of the room.

"Why are you still standing here, ladies? Get on the bus!" Whitey guided his players from the locker room, and out the doors and towards the buses.

* * *

><p>"Hey best friend," Brooke greeted feebly when she found Peyton, "how are you feeling today?" Brooke bit her lip. She knew that Peyton would fight her on this subject, but they had to talk.<p>

"I woke up this morning, still possibly pregnant. How do you think I am?" Peyton crossed her arms. Her elbows grazed her stomach, and she shuttered. There could be a living little person in her right now. It would be completely dependent on her… would she be able to live up to the responsibility?

"I think it's one of those feelings you can never really know unless you experience it," Brooke told her friend with a shrug.

"Someone took their philosophical pills this morning," Peyton drawled, still keeping her arms tightly around her body. Somehow it felt like if she did this, all the issues would go away.

"Yeah, well, I have my moments. But are you sure—"

"Can we not talk about this now? Especially not here. High school already has too many problems to add _this_ to the mix."

"Whatever you want, Peyt," Brooke mumbled. Hearing deep voices echoing from the locker room hallway, the two girls watched as the Ravens varsity made their way out of the school and into the cool outdoors where the cheerleaders stood by the buses.

Peyton quickly caught Nathan's eye, and she tried to look away. But those compelling navy eyes kept her mystified. It was amazing to her how even after so long, her heart could still flutter at seeing him. Crossing her arms tighter, she remembered that her break up wasn't the only thing to worry about. If she really was pregnant, then that meant that the baby was Nathan's too. Their son or daughter would be linked to a family known notoriously for its men running from their responsibilities. Maybe Nathan wouldn't end up like his father. He could raise the baby with her then. They'd pick names, and bicker about who their child looked more like. It all seemed like a fantasy; and fantasies rarely become anything much more than that.

Nate veered off from the straight path to the bus, and went left slightly, headed right for Peyton. She dug her nails into her sides, and she felt her heart beat quicker. It was astounding how much influence he had over her.

"Peyton, can we please talk?" Nathan looked to his ex-girlfriend, pleading for a chance. She wanted to give him it. He didn't deserve it though, so she stayed silent. "I've apologized, said I loved you—what else do you want from me?"

"What do I want?" Peyton's words were ice. "I want the truth."

"About what?" Nathan loosely wrapped his arms around his chest.

"_Us_! What are we, Nathan? What am I to you?" Peyton wanted to cry. Stress and loneliness had always consumed her. This time was worse though. She was so close to finally keeping someone forever, but not close enough to reach. It seemed better to be in total despair rather than a hint of hope lurking toxically within.

"We're Nathan and Peyton. You're the girl that brings out the… softer parts in me, and I let you live a little. That's how it's always worked. Since September 28th of freshmen year, that's how it's worked." Nathan gave her a shy but brilliant smile. It was the same one he had given her the first day they met.

"I—Nathan, I want to say that that's enough. A part of me thinks it is. But I need time. You have to show me you've really changed. I'm not getting sucked into a dysfunctional relationship with you again."

Nathan stared at Peyton, trying to find an answer. But Tim called him from his window seat, and Nathan was pulled into the bus.

Peyton watched as he left, numbness taking over. He'd really just described their relationship… just the way she had always seen it. There was so much more to Nathan Scott, and even after two years, Peyton was just starting to figure it all out.

* * *

><p>I love Nathan. That's the only excuse I have for this chapter. (And I know some characters are a little OOC. This is an AU story, so please don't be too rough!) I promise the game will be in the next chapter.<p>

_Your thoughts are much appreciated. _


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